What is it about your October-sky
eyes? Your primal mouth:
Lips slightly flanged,
teeth made for sinking into bark,
or lime tree leaves silver-sided in the sun
or tearing through the tender heart of
a girl, a nightmare, a bone-hardening lust.
You sat for the portrait
just long enough to be eternally
caught: the twenty-three years of you against
the spreading mahogany of the backdrop.
The skimmed-cream skin of your brow
stretched across the pulsing ribbons of your brain.
The split-second still-life of your milk-wet mouth.
The vanishing point of your eyes.
The split-second still-life of your milk-wet mouth.
The vanishing point of your eyes.
3 comments:
Still not happy with this. Suggestions? Or should I just can it?
"the twenty-three years of you against
the spreading mahogany of the backdrop."
"The skimmed-cream skin of your brow
stretched across the pulsing ribbons of your brain."
"milk-wet mouth"
Such nice images/language.
I agree with Wendilea.
Your words make the Portrait (I am thinking) far more interesting.
'stretched across the pulsing ribbons of your brain' that line in itself stand out for me and as a whole, yes; I am liking this you.
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