A woman's name, a colour, a tree and a cocktail ingredient. Reversed, it is a bad letter of the Alphabet.

When your plans or your hands turn to dust. When you knock down a door with a thrust. An object of lust, impolite to discuss, This place to hang pearls when men. . .

A white one can mean high end service. A red one that’s laced up can mean you are ready to fight. A leather one that doesn’t fit can set you free.

I hold your thoughts but cannot think. Used to recall what minds may blink. I travel light, on desks I stay, but never speak a word you say. With lines I’m dressed, in me they dwell your secrets kept, I serve you well.

I live in silence, spread like seed, I shift the hearts of those who read. No chest to breathe, no lungs to feel. What am I that shapes the real?