inward

translucent strings with opaque beads

keep the entrance to her room,

jasmine rice and a touch of curry in the air,

rouge washes the ceiling,

goldenrod bathes the walls,

and there are mirrors with fleur de lis lattices on their spines,

she likes to see herself as she passes them… oft as she does,

her eyes the gateways to places he can only imagine,

and does he dare to go there?

Is he the Echo to her Narcissus?

or just a daydreamer with a pining in his chest,

and what’s wrong with a little vanity anyways?

If you had those curves and them curls; you too would be wound up in them.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s