Shy Chris

He walks in a bubble
- slow - or at the double
he keeps out of trouble,
grows a little stubble

and, as far as I can tell,
(when I chatted to shy Chris today)
every bubble’s shiny, small,
contained and neat and tidy

and so we talk, breathe out,
trying to expand our film;
try to merge a personal bliss
or hell before young Cupid’s dart
(or Death’s old rusty axe) â€" flies
and we bulge a little, weep a little; burst.

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