Tag Archives: kisses
May 26th, 2010
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The washed out image of your face
coming back to life
as my finger tips trace
hollowed grounds of velvet.
Chimerical and illusory
the fleeting sensation of love
as my lips brush across skin
long left neglected.
Diminutive birds
with wings so swift
I never see them
as they hover near
and whisper soft secrets
telling me how to touch you
in unforeseen ways
that give rise to shivers.
Black smoke on the horizon
clouds everything
except for what we have now
tucked away in our own secret world
playing an old rhapsody
singing
an eternal refrain.
– matt at shadow of iris
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May 8th, 2010
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A chess board
each square, a glossy shape
cream and ebony swirls
of mature nude women
each sleek and beautiful
searching their way back
to a fetal position
and in the center
where they meet
a kiss.
– matt at shadow of iris
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[Inspired by the art of Fred Wiedmann.]
March 15th, 2010
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Goodbye and see you later,
God knows, I’ve cried enough for you,
fought battles and died three times!
Let chance take its shots,
you left me pot-marked
in a world blacker than a pitch-dark night,
one step between me and the grave.
Oh, I don’t blame you;
how could I have ever resisted you?
It was no fault of your own
that God gave you a body like that.
Had we never spent that night together,
had you never taught me such secrets,
then what would this emptiness be to me,
but something shallow, instead of this chasm I can’t cross?
I throw dirt upon your long box
and wonder about what lies within.
That inert bulk, however shapely, was never you,
but then again what was and where have you gone?
I’d give you one last kiss,
a slow motion farewell upon lips warmed only by my tears,
but they keeping heaping more and more dirt upon you
until you are gone.
– matt at shadow of iris
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[Inspired by Robert Burns Ae Fond Kiss.]
February 22nd, 2010
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They asked him to paint the virgin Mary
along with her small child
instead he painted the king’s lover
on a throne, she’d never have
with an heir, she’d never bear.
She sits there calmly
on the Queen’s chair,
a jewel encrusted crown
upon her hair plucked forehead
and an ermine-lined cloak
resting gently upon her shoulders;
the laces that hold
the upper two halves of her dress together
have been loosened
so that one side falls away
to expose a single, full
and perfectly rounded
breast
more erotic, than tender
more seductive, than maternal
a magnetic lunar globe
that pulls all eyes
in.
The boy that sits on her lap
could careless
about his mother’s nipple
but sits already
with the weight of kings
upon his shoulders;
there is a detached air
about this naked rotund prince
as he points with disintrest
below his mother’s waste
to something hidden there
under the folds of her dress;
he can follow the golden chain
far back
and understands
his own
carnal origins.
Both the virgin and her babe
are white as snow
against a background
of endless cherubim and seraphim
some so cold and so blue
you can feel the ice on their breath
and others so hot and so red
that surely they seethe from within;
small sensual angels
in the flesh
shimmering and smooth
profane.
The virgin herself is so beautiful
that a thousand words
could never
ever
do her justice,
she is as delicate as a porcelain doll
and yet as lithe and poised
as a swan gliding across still water.
So thin as to barely be seen,
a veil surounds her oval face
and has been pushed back
to offer an invitation;
but for now she demurs
her wide eyes staring downwards
nearly closed
at a spot not near
but someplace far, far away.
This is how she will tempt you
when you step in closer
and closer
to gently lift her chin
and without thought
let her lips
meet your own.
– matt at shadow of iris
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[The enemies of King Charles VII of France likely poisoned Agnès Sorel with mercury years before Jean Fouquet even began his beautiful painting of her contained in the Melun Diptych.]
