In crumpled silk
her old woman’s profile
tempts tactile voyages
teases makeshift sifters.
Is she doctored by sepia tones?
Cool to the touch
yet warmth emanates
from her wrinkled glaze.
Dive under her character folds
discover the dermis paper-thin
eroded smooth by gritty tales
trickling in her time capsule.
And when you do..
looks can be..
She survives by experience.
She inspires by being.
And we live impetuously by
playing sculptor to her secrets
disrupting her satin strands.
she preens and cajoles,
coaxing those who thrive
on making waves.
And every hair slides
right back into place.
Picture prompt and credit: https://a2matos.deviantart.com/art/Hexagon-394630826
A new wrinkle,
Searching mirror for answer
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections, 2018.
make my eyes
You call me
beautiful but you
what you call
is your own
maybe a bigger frown than
I unpacked your boxes too quickly.
I exposed the whiteness of your thighs
freckled by the reddish-brown hairs
I uncovered the wrinkles in your blue iris
the lies and tears behind your front teeth
I wanted your words to flutter from your mind
but they dropped from your throat to the floor
I wanted your laughter in your core to be kind
but it came from a shallow, envious drawer
I pulled strands and veins out of boxes
Found bundles and tangles
that I assumed should be unraveled
but when I pulled and twisted one straight,
you left in your car with a crunch in the gravel
Drove straight into the arms of
at low rise tables with one chair,
an excerpt from a novel bent at the spine
and the sweater you never let me wear
I drank from the pint glass you brought home for me
and it wasn't a statement.
I wore no mask.
I simply sipped.
It's only meaning to transport water to my lips
Calmly, coating my belly
So slowly I'd wait
Imagining water burning like *****
Barreling down my throat
like an interstate
I wanted it back
the feeling of feeling
the fear that walks with revealing
the love, the artist, and the lunatic
all cooked together and left to steep
I pulled out my own strands
the ones anchored deep.
I worked endlessly to straighten
You wrapped yourself in my veins
You were trapped in the bundle
so you ran, then came a stumble
forgetting that I was anchored too
and so you pulled me right down with you.
And I left you there
with your tearful stare
I bunched up these strands
and laid out my demands
I carried them off, the tangled mess
You once announced was yours to hold
but you overestimated yourself
and watched me become cold
A block of ice, you could never melt
you were not all, you were not my wealth
you were only the weight I felt.
Here's to growing up,
To the young, the sad and the lonely,
Here's to growing up!
To the fairly old and wrinkled,
Here's to go growing up,
Where life is not so simple,
*Here's to growing up!
I will look upon your face
And I will love it, Sweet Gentle.
I will love it, soft and tender,
Wrinkle by wrinkle.
Before that, I was just normal.
Not that I’m not normal now,
But not normal like you would think.
I used to be like the girls
You see, laughing at the lunch
Room table, covered in smiles.
But now I realize how sad that really is.
I want to laugh and be happy,
But I want to breathe in the breath
Of the ones I love
Notice the importance of curves
Or the reason I can see each
Of the bones in her ankle.
I don’t want to stop and smell the roses
I want to memorize the wrinkles
In your lips when they press together
— The End —