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.
my newer one, “metamorphing”, builds on the theme in its way
I do.
So that’s interesting, to me.
This one is interesting…
You think so?