as I move
on to the tip of my nose
they surface with gills made of spoons
stirring the broth they live in
no wonder I can’t see the bottom

this neon identity
from    surface to    surface
a flamboyant centipede

my breath makes  beads
nose tip against nose tip

staring at each other
facing so many
I put my hand against the facade

and distorts my own self
looking
in to me

Image and poem © Malintha Perera 2016

 

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