Bare shoulders at the opera,
The air is blessed
By the chance
To pass those scarlet lips.
Silently, splendidly,
She demands
Attention; worship,
Now and always,
Trinkets and wonders,
Offerings of
Diamonds and gold,
Of my beating heart
Upon a silver platter.
I am not the only one to oblige,
But she has chosen me -
It is my neck
Her lipstick is smudged across,
My bed which she graces,
My name
Which she calls,
And so splendidly
She does it all, how easy
Beauty is made to seem.
There is a grace about her;
A sweetness to her lips,
So tastefully rouged.
Silken gloves, pearls resting against
Her collarbone -
I am blessed to breathe
Her in.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
