Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Eloise, Age 24

Eloise Verdante, Curator, Spring 1969

Was it easy?
Dismantling my brick walls,
with your bare hands,
compost of cries
buried in the ducts of my eyes?
Did you even have to try?
Or did it come naturally?
The way monkeys are born knowing how to climb a tree,
Is it instinctual 
the ability you have to
move me? 
I wonder.
Who taught you how to touch?
Never mind touch,
How to melt away my melancholy days and nights,
one long-drawn lick at a time,
'till you reach the center of my
unadulterated mind,
capturing that elusive spoil no one else could find.
And as the tick
of the tocks
of my clocks unwind,
you unwrap a lost soul from a delicate foil
so divine,
and genuine,
that when all is said and done,
I can hardly believe
it's mine. 
In Eloise's Closet...
Eloise's Closet

*The quote above is a fictionalized account inspired by the people and fashion of a photograph found here.*

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