Hello there, kettle,
I am pot
and I would like to get to know you.
You see, I am a bit
all over the show
today
and they say,
they tell me
that you and I
seem to spy
with the self-same blackened eye.
You see,
albeit with some difficulty
I’m sure,
we are both accustomed to the flare,
to the flame.
We are accustomed
to this rough-and-tumble game.
We sing
with the symmetry of fire,
of scorching scrutiny,
sweet savours
and sweaty,
savoury
stains.
Kettle, could you forgive me
if I were to call you black?
You see, in you lies my story
reflected, burning, back.