by Geoff Stevens

In the tropical glasshouse
at the Botanical Gardens
hair corkscrewed against the domed roof
you are outshone by the sun’s intensity
as it gilds the skylit segments
that glisten around your face
mud-cracks your complexion
into many isolated facets
like the geometrical islands of paint
nduced by the drying out of ancient masters.
You are an oil painting
desecrated by time.
But I do not mention it to you
merely take you by the hand and lead you
into the bar for restoration –
mine not yours.

Geoff Stevens is the editor of Purple Patch poetry magazine and a widely published poet and artist.

  1. #1 by adham smart on April 26, 2008 - 7:23 am

    wow, i really like this. “mud-cracks your complexion” – wonderful!

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