mounted lip's chapped and sliced
with the imprint of your gnawing
an idle mind
the pouty intrigued expression
Skin like feather,
my mind an indelible pleasure
for being so close to your self inflicted scars
and the quick self-conscious smearing of worn down lip-gloss
which label illustrates nothing medically helpful
but seems to believe sparkles will be an improvement
will be an service to you and your needs
So, little flecks of light illuminating off miniscule confetti
carried on the driest and most fragile of skins
flies off your gleaming lips to the cheek,
to your frowning eyelids
stealing all the important places I have yet to look.
Lifting you into this tiny impressionable chaos of shattered hopes,
as though you are in a dream and this fantasy is melting through your pores...
But to me
it only slices your face into areas of interest;
Perhaps I'd fancy a lip or more an nostril or even an eyebrow?
perhaps, I shouldn't ignore your longing, your relentless hopes, needs and pulls
Perhaps this is a calling...
But as the light dimishes and only your black figure remains
I can still reach my arm out and tenderly press my finger to find skin flakes drifting on to it.
(comment on this poem)