If I should sing to you that your eyes

Are blue as the sky,

If I praise your strength

Comparing it to iron.

The image is so shop-worn,

The cliché so oft repeated,

That you’ll hear but not feel it

So I say it but don’t say it.

How to penetrate, then,

The anesthetized ear,

In order to question… values?

How to touch by saying

‘Respect’, ‘love’ or ‘pity’,

Rendered invisible by their triteness?