Surface Music

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Looking back on "love" and finding that it wasn't love at all

Submitted: November 10, 2006

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Submitted: November 10, 2006

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Like a guitar string,

I was plucked

You were the musician,

You were my composer.

 

The song, I think, was Baroque

But for all the pomp

And all the gilded edges,

It was empty:

 

Your illusions matched mine,

The smiles, the adoration;

I had such perspective,

Now it's all disarrayed

 

Like paint, brushed on the surface,

Your hand bruised,

Until marble tromp l'oeil

Turned to photograph.


© Copyright 2018 Nicola Jane. All rights reserved.

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