After Magritte's 'The Lovers'
Lovers still obscured—not pigments nor oils
could disclose them. I think of the mystery
beyond the beloved, of what images
contain that is beyond sense. See them joined
together in a kiss, see that the veils
refuse to reveal their names. I can make
out the shape a bit when a darker shade
blends in around her cheek. I've been so kept
from love by veils and clouds, I cannot think
of what it's like to see her. When she tilts
her face and neck into the light, her sleeves
move over arms, the blue-grey of her eyes
gives me her love. The veils that separate
the subject and the object are illusions.
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