Worship

There is only so much our constricted glass shelf can hold
Yet the brimming artefacts stocked within
Never cease to expand our chests by a millimetre at least
Every time you take a look
We've named them in two syllables, granted them with distinguished tastes
Gazed too long into their unblinking eyes and believed they knew the answers
We've let the incense smoke linger a little more around their polished heads
The oil lamp's golden reflection smeared on their marbled skin is us
Bidding goodbye to every dusk, every day
Perhaps we see in them what we see in ourselves

Cold metal hearts
Yearning for the heat of friction
Where your presence deserves worship
And mere gaze alone is holy...