Mope

Metaphor for Wurthering Heights.
Check it.

-The Glass Blower-

The molten lake stirs and riglets
settle around the hollow and
dripping
beam
as his hot neck sticks to his shirt,
and he licks his crackling lips
with a fire pop and hiss.

Breathe

And the sap bears itself
a new form, shaped around
his amorous words
carried on
puffs
of air
leaving it equally empty.

He shakes his furrowed head,
for the single
beautiful
moment
that he gives the first breath
is gone.

Set aside,
the piece gives a sharp cry
when placed upon the brick,
already rigid,
already forever,
already too delicate for him to touch.

A true champagne-glass frame.