Turquoise, pink, Aztec pattern covers your plump apple belly growth that I want to capture

...She is trapped now Old man's beard in the hedgerow...

It burns and purges deep the hollowness That lies inside the pain of your recall. To turn away and leave all your distress Between these shadows haunting every room

At the end I signed it, 'a mum of three'. This was to make what I was writing about seem even easier to the readers, even though it was already very easy. I believe it was inspired by the woman I saw sleeping on the bus yesterday. Her ease of posture made me think mothering must be easy (although there were no children near her). Her body made me think that she could have had perhaps three children. She slept deeply in her pyjamas, on the bus, bookended by people in suits. Her mouth was open slightly and I could see her teeth were sparse, askew gravestones wedged loosely in desecrated gums. Her age was somewhere between 16 and 29.

Glittering hope is contained in our hands, Left For the fire, Right to make a stand, Lightning from the right palm, Can you see it in your hands? It starts with a mountain of four,

Summer. A word taken two ways. If you ask someone older, they'll say, It's a time of heat, in the middle of the year. But to the contrary, you may ask someone younger.

I sit and think About the tape I made you And the books and shuttlecock You’ve left behind. I wonder how I couldn’t reciprocate When you did all you did Made music for me

So, I tried again And slipped, it seems Out of my own skin, Into someone elses, Into yours Into your house, your tragic life Your blood-red room And single bed I threw myself

Hideous beauty And the red chains break As the silent waves wash over the sand, Cleansing. The white walls are crumbling, And the light streams through, The thousand holes.

Edited following comments by Jacquelineann. Does this work better ?