After Man Ray's 'Observatory Time: The Lovers'
Are they lips or clouds? Are those small clouds
the features of a warm front? Both her back
and the earth have valleys, I start to trace
the lines of her waist with pigment. The sky
is a large mouth, I wait for her to speak
above my game, for her articulations
to stir me here. See how the silhouetted
horizon is obscured! See how her face
is turned away! I see the curving lines
of her legs, the lines of bishops, of pawns,
of queens and kings. If only there were color
in her skin and eyes! If from those lips
a tongue emerged that began to bathe the world
in love! Or is this not a possibility?
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