Refraction.

Clovette V

She always smiles,
Both in the flesh and in the portrait
That I painted long ago.
Whatever I say,
She smiles -
Even when I put my hand
Up against the canvas
And told her that I had to go.
Only when you know her
Do you see that Clovette smiles
When her heart yearns to cry,
To scream, to rage, to fight -
I can tell the difference now,
But what use
Is it now?
My beloved Clovette is far away,
And I just gaze
Upon the portrait on the wall,
On the easel,
In my bedchamber,
Propped up against the edges
Of my mind,
With that smile that was borne of a cry.
I can tell her now, of who I was,
And who it is that I sought to be.
Clovette, I can sit with you now
For the rest of time,
As if I hadn't departed long ago.
I understand you now,
My sweet Clovette, and I'd tell you
How I love you
If I could reach you;
If acrylic-painted ears could hear,
I'd declare my love
In a passionate whisper -
Passion was what you sought.
Yours knew no bounds,
And I never understood:
Not until I heard my spirit cry out
For you;
Not until it was far too late
To hold you.
That delectable smile, it lingers
In the portrait
That I painted long ago,
But only now can I read your lips:
I hurt you then, my dearest Clovette,
And I see it now;
I see you now,
Within the portrait on the wall,
On the easel,
In my bedchamber,
Propped up against the edges
Of my buzzing mind.