cold tile -
hospital indifferent
white
that feels like
icy
silk on
arms
raw from scrapes
and cuts.
up and down
the scratching post.
malicious kitten
with safety pin
teeth
keeps
shredding
carpet threads,
string by string by string
until there's
nothing left but paper
framework.
tissue paper
orchids exchanged
for dying roses.
sprays of oil paint
hurled into an
oceanwet sky.
my starry night
is formed by your
eyes - whirling
raincloud opals
that shame
kaleidoscopes.
you told me
that your soul
hides in your hands.
not in the eyes.
eyes are not
windows, clear
glass marbles.
not gypsy's
crystals.
but carnival
funhouse mirrors
that reflect
my
face
a thousand times
warped
and perverted into
truth.
hands cannot hide
blisters or
torn skin rubbed
poppy-red
raw.
hands show
the soul in subtle
whispers.
fingers on tender skin
feel like
orchid petals like
falling stars like
winter fireworks like
gray-green eyes like
soft metal like
cold, cold tile...