Sometimes
I just sit and stare
at my face in the
mirror||rorrim.

Alone, 
on my bedroom floor, 
prickly carpet 
grazing my flesh, 
seconds drip into minutes, 
into hours, into moments.

How easily it deconstructs, 
breaks up, breaks down.

Milky pallor into 
rosy incandescence; 
into almondite ellipse; 
into pursed sultriness...

In atria flecked 
with brown and gold, 
oceans rise and fall, 
aqueous prisms form, 
teeter on rims 
of black and white 
then roll 
dulcetly 
fluently
down slopes strewn 
with shiny rivulets, 
stinging ever so slightly 
from the passage of time 
and the velvety sighs 
of air that pervade 
the obscurity of my chamber.

If I stare long enough, 
lucidity replaces ambiguity, 
gaucherie succumbs 
to abstract beauty - 
I see a face that 
perhaps even someone 
could learn to love 
a little.

But I always snap back, 
come to, recoil, wake up, 
to the blank canvas, 
the familiar white clay 
of my countenance, 
waiting to be 
fashioned 
sculpted
moulded

waiting,
waiting...

to find its true form

10/03/2003

Posted on 10/03/2003
Copyright © 2024 Karen Michelle