Esmerelda's Hands

I haven't been anywhere worth staying,

The repulsive realities of life in the city,

The murderous spite that opened my eyes,

The way we escape into one another,

Sometimes to be held in Esmerelda's hands,

Sometimes to be held hostage or thrown away.

I feign would blow-away her smiling face, but there

She sits, at the table for her birthday party.

I will carve up the cake and serve you a piece;

You will pick-up a napkin to your face.

And smile that you have lorded over us,

Though you try to hide it behind your hand.