The architecture of the hooks

I saw the delicate blueprints, blue, old style. I leaned over to see them better on the desk, my hand soft on your shoulder. The chalky paper and the tracing of the clever blue lines. The architecture of the hooks. The sharpness for piercing, the long long straight wire that slips through flesh, stronger than hope and stronger than regret, and then the unexpected undefeatable curve and the late, too late, barb.

And when you left you left the hooks in my heart. A constant low burning and then too often the sharpness when the music touches the line, the taste or the odour, the colour of the scarf in the distance.

Inspired by a line by Hardeep Singh Kohli @misterhsk

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