She’s an enigma encry
pted in the fissures of mag
Arms of missing links
or hidden, scrapped in litt
le bits and she never sends them in
a kiss. Free to chat –
I need to ask – but talk about it in
a bit so her tongue’s a syno
nym for Venetian masks. Fea
tured padlocks in her spee
I’m a weakened man; her weekend man.
Pretending envelopes received their
stamps; regardless her wo
rds are open plan, sudoku, brok
d swallowed whole like
notes in class.
She’s stained glass and castle wa
lls, Aesop’s fables, battlements Picasso dra
ws, abstract inventions like,
Readers tour words;
Amazed by Amish hieroglyphs;
We spend our cryptic time on it.
We spend hours defining how an artist works;
Solving labyrinths in elusive worlds;
Deciphering illusions and illusive patterns
And question syllables with intrusive powers.
There’s a beauty in translucence I cannot see in the transparent.