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,
pronouncements
sighs
and the sudden sounds
of surrender
Her face, framed –
the dark water falling,
forming
a tunnel,
her face above
yours, below.
The screaming,
rushing water.
Her face.
Her face.
Beautiful..I was spellbound the entire poem.
Thank you… it was an intense write.
my newer one, “metamorphing”, builds on the theme in its way
I do.
So that’s interesting, to me.
The first stanza in particular. I can’t claim to fully understand but my nature is to only be more intrigued by that.
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.
Of course!
Still wanna know.
We can always talk
I have an email address on my page for all things here
You never did explain it
I appreciate that persistence. I will see you if I can be a bit less oblique in my explanation…
Go on then…
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.
I think I took nearly all of that when I read it. I don’t know what I thought you might say.
Well, I hold back, too. There’s that, too – lacking someone to level me like that
We all do that. Apologies for pushing you, I’m bossy.
This one is interesting…
You think so?