Mostly, I'm a
fainted maiden
wondering
where the
hell is that ol'
golden boy
to match
the image
I had once
become.

Inside
these feelings
ache of
tooth and
nail
I drink divine
and try
to hold her
ivory image
in my hands.

To this
I have
surrendered.

I'm a
fragrant
pigmentbounded
replica
of roses
that have
never bloomed before.

To you
I have
surrendered
that which once
was painted
tapestry
and masks
that shed no light
upon a weak
and fragile
culture.

I've shed my petals
bore old sepals
-cut me out of
canvas
with the thorns
I used to know.

Berate me with
the love professed
from mouths and eyes
and I will fight
to hold it there
where I can dine
upon it
like a mantis
'pon the face
of one fat honeybee.

But if
you let
those colours
gray
beyond
the point
of my retrieval
you will cease
to hear my name
inside such wounded echos.

You will see
my image
in the whorls
of faulty
fingerprints.

10/01/2004

Posted on 10/01/2004
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia