Wednesday, March 5, 2014

voyeur skin exhibit.

The boy drew what he saw.
     
Frail and pale,
poorly washed skin,
all the imperfections
glaring under spot light eyes.

The thin smoke
from my cigarette dictates
tendrils that outline her
in a grey and blue frame.     

The boy wants to be an artist.
His vision of beauty
and his grace of profane things
will be envisioned by his skill.

The female came to us out of expectation.
She moves and sways to
a song in her head.
A virgin, or so the legend goes,
              
Her false sense of bemusement
is only a token
that gets trades and deals
out of heroes waiting for victory.

The boy keeps on drawing
and she pretends to be smiling.
I didn’t want this to happen
but no one said a word.