My picture of you cries
and in empathic warmth
for your laminar flame
peach hues of your skin
I shelter a sigh --
a slower afternoon passes
in eidetic pleasure:
with a note of sadness
a certain taste of your entity
I identify your print
Recognized you are
but who am I?
a recollection of paint drops
bottled spots and folded lines
my features have become
elusive - diluted is my image
to strengthen sense of self
My picture of me fades
and I feel this life from within
in candlelit warmth, as we once were
when faceless and sinless
free of this burden, we loved
not in fake uniqueness
and mirrored delusion,
never hypnotized or self-absorbed
Again today, I let you recognize me
as I look at you
[at all of you]
and let myself love
Regis
Chip Bergeron
Starkly different meanings... and yet one and the same whether I read it as a woman who is talking to her past lover, or whether I read it as a woman who is looking in the mirror, or perhaps even a picture of her former self...Clever girl! So profound.
Blessings,
Christine
budd