A Presentation of Love
And now
it is the space
before
assessing one's soul in silence
more than the naked limbs
unseen
here is where the mind
waits to be alone
waits for that relief
like sleep
stirring
somewhere
between the tension
flickers the flame
of impatience,
pacing
to trespass the stranger
with rolling eyes,
searching for inward rolling
representations of romance.
Stirring
in the searching eyes
of those who claim love
I have yet to see the
assemblage of me,
acquired or
unrequited.
Stirring
within some portrait
of a reflection,
in stillness remains
a mere chance
of a reproduction,
unsuccessful.
So to diffuse
a portrait that has
not my eyes,
nor my mouth
that cannot seem to replicate
the curve of my breasts
I refrigerate any chance
of backhands
and dilute
pleasure's presentation of love.
