Her face

A waterfall of dark hair,
frames her face – focusing
eyes that grace you,
a gift when they find you,
to burn through your lies,
the untruths you sell
(mostly to yourself,
the hell of twisted introspection)

The lips, curve – paint the air,
an artist framing you.
Your tremble as she measures,
her whispers
weighted with her foreign tongue,
and the sudden sounds
of surrender

Her face, framed –
the dark water falling,
a tunnel,
her face above
yours, below.

The screaming,
rushing water.

Her face.

Her face.

23 thoughts on “Her face

      1. Well that’s part of it, for a reader. I know don’t want the author to explain their explanations. I want them to show, not tell. We seek riddles. We don’t need to be hit with hammers.

      2. At surface… a woman with dark hair, that hangs and frames her face. Focuses it, sort of an objective lens on a telescope. The other end, the eyepiece lens, is the subject, their view. Her eyes magnified, centered in the lens. Drawing one in. If they turn your way, take you in, they hold you, and it’s a sort of gift. One that’s sharp, she doesn’t allow pretense.

        Beneath that, beyond that… supernovas and white dwarfs, black holes and dark matter. Everything.

      3. Well, thanks – not on here often enough. I should redress that sometime. Enjoyed your most recent pieces. I like the magpie.

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