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Lines border my eyes like new roads
to more distinguishing characteristics,
signifying for me many a morning frown.

I draw my face closer to the mirror to
examine them in more detail, mapping
pending destinies laid fresh like asphalt.

Traces of purple fans out from the exterior
corners, I think of them as ink spatter that
gets larger every time I endorse

a small check.

I cannot stop the runs but I can
hide the evidence with concealer
creams and foundation,

establishing a façade upon which
the viewer will find as pleasant
from just the right                          
                                       distance.

I stand back just so approximately
from the mirror to admire
an illusion of youth,

and then move forward once more
to fathom the texture
of experience—

"Maybe less this time" I think,
have I not earned the right ?


s jones
2011-2021

.

You speak to my heart,
In languages I never knew
Fingertips like velvet,
Tracing worlds into my skin
One touch set ablaze,
My weary soul
Oh what a solace,
To spend a lifetime searching for freedom
To find that freedom exists,
Within the confines of the smallest hands
And you… The unsayer of gray
You, speaker of colors and magic
The calm after the storm,
Promising the breath of a new morning
Safety found in a quiet smile,
A gentle squeeze
Eloquently you conduct harmonies,
Across my body
Plucking my every heart string,
A resonance warm and welcome
You speak to my heart,
In languages I never knew