She's b e a u t i f u l,
illustrative strings of librettos waltz on starched paper
from underneath chapped lips and ink-stained fingertips
she passes time counting the caress of the second hand
eyes as empty as the broken glass-face.
a name is sighed,
and suddenly mud-dull eyes become burnt sienna:
love, fire, flames of desire sear at her irises
melt a hole in her icy walls and suddenly,
Pièce de Résistance is rekindled.
i stare at her script,
and i become green-eyed
[ she is everything i'm not and everything i wanted to be ]
* Dedicated to Juniper, my dear friend.