Upon closer inspection, her lips dark
from shadow play cast by curtains
of red curls and window pane glasses,
were alligator skin green.
Were they larger, I would kill her
and fashion a coin purse—but not to hold
change, her lips too loose
to keep value. She was a theatre
of truth. Her demands to act now!
I heard in a hush, as if we were being
watched. I stared at this dream woman,
at her captured youth, framed many times,
her celebrity hung on the wall like rope from trees.
