This ashen tongue…
It slithers through deceit
Like dreams of silk
Over the morning mist.
Your mouth tastes of promise;
It shimmers over mine
Until synapses burst
And blind, I cannot sift
Away the beauty from its lies.
An angel born of darkness;
Your dagger rooted in my spleen…
Around its icy blade I twist
Until my bowl bejewels yours
With tears of ruby warmth.
Yours is the serpent bite,
And mine… the rift.
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Thank you! 🙂
Vic, what a great poem. Is the painting yours as well?
Thank you, Grace. I’m afraid I have not been able to discover who the painter is. I found the painting online and loved the subdued notes in the palette, but all the information I was able to get about it was an index.
I have done some additional sleuthing (just for you 🙂 ) and I have found out two things:
1) The name of the painting is “Lovers and Falling Rain”, although the title in the index is incomplete and I made the assumption that the r… stands for rain. It does appear a little stormy on the other side of that window.
2) Although I cannot be certain (it is very possible that the name I found is of a collector rather than a painter), I believe that their name is Malcolm Ryan. If I am correct in my conclusions and deductions, although I am no familiar with his work, I would very much like to see more of his pieces.
Hope this was helpful. Wishing you a great week ahead,
Thank you, Vic! His name is not familiar to me as well. I will have to google him. That was so nice of you to research the information for me. That painting was just so evocative.
Hey Vic, you’re back – just as I’m taking a bloggy break!
A beautiful, haunting poem (as usual). L xx
Thank you, Lee-Anne. I hope you enjoy your blogging holiday. I am travelling at the moment so it is difficult to be consistent in my timings and writing when it comes to blogging, but will do my best to post once a week.
Have a wonderful time in your travels, Vic. Although not posting myself, I’ll still be dropping by my favourite blogs! 🙂
Thank you, Lee-Anne. In Boston at the moment, but not for long. “So little time – so many places”, and for the first time in my life it has the ring of truth about it. Take care and have a great holiday.
I have to read your poems aloud, Vic, they are so musical they beg that. Among others, I love the sound of “Until my bowl bejewels yours.” My mouth was tempted to make it “bowel bejewels,” what with the spleen in the earlier line. Visceral, musical, and darkly delightful as always, from title to end! Hope this poem isn’t about the delectable Mr. Cumberbatch! 😉
Thank you, Leigh. There is no greater reward than knowing that my poetry reaches out and resonates with readers, so thank you for sharing, and beautifully so. For once, it is not about the ever elusive Mr. C. It’s been a while since I have written a post about him, and although I have quite a few stories up my sleeve… for the time being at least, they will have to remain (ahem) “sleeved”.