Scissors I.P.

You sever my reason,
shape my feelings with your
steely blades of perception.

You use the twin edges
of measured analysis
and practical application,

to rotate on my axis of impatience,

defining our new existence
with that swinging efficiency
of open ' closed action.

You manipulate me
with metal precision,
held in a warm moulded grip.

My paper reality
waiting for words
that define an Us.