and i picture her
as rain-teardrops
on callas-
bone white,
cold
and soft]
everytime she flicks a grin at me
i hear ice crack
and slither down my spine
serendipitous, she
always glances up
when i’m least expecting it
her eyes are shattered windows,
shards of red-edged glass
where someone cut himself
trying to get through to her
black-rose soul
and my baby blues
are [still] vulnerable
to fiberglass girls
[that burning sensation
from touching insulation]
and the sizzle
of effervescence
eating at that confidence
[i thought] i honed so well
–
written w27jul2011.
–
idiography 