Ray-Bans

You wear me out.

14 hours a day,

7 days a week.

I indulge in the gouging of glass ceilings

but all you do is rehabilitate me.

Desiring to deposit me & flee.

Anticipation for your return

is that I will be state-of-the-art,

straight out-of-the-box kinda new.

Refurbished & improved.

You seek to suppress

the timeless in your

tears

designed to emit angsty dysphoria

as you take me off

& lay me down on petite designer sheet.

Oppressing me in your obsidian sarcophagus

USA produced on native grounds.

Coffee-stained beiges.

Auriferous faces.

What would you do

without the envisioned metaphysics of my anatomy?

Who would you be

without my almighty autonomy?

Blind as a star-nosed mole

lucid daydreamer.

What would happen

if we never got around to fracturing

the feelings in our frames?

Let me be the one

to guide you into the sun.