The Eye as a Camera of Questionable Accuracy

She lifts her head
Turns from the window
Seeing the world through a poets’ eyes
Categorizing and classifying
everything
Eyes that slice and peel away the cutis
section the torso
remove the soft parts
All the pieces and parts neatly pressed
between the lines of her masterworks

I have given up Reason
And go with the flow
I have known
The weight of too many lovers
in my arms over the years
A river of flames and faces

Turning for home
I drift into a reverie
We walk along the seashore
We do not speak
I write your name
in the sand

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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