i
she folds
in pieces;
a jigsaw of
layered conundrums
and contortions,
sensual and seductive
in turns;
each a lie ~
it rests in
mottled ages now.
...she is almost happy
the picture lid
and the corner edges
almost sum her up...
ii
scant:
undressed
and unseen,
caressed in fiction
and fantasies
of who knows who
or when or how?
she yearns for a beginning,
and an end to this tautness
that renders her
incomplete,
she yearns for herself
comfortable
and free
iii
one glass of shiraz
too many,
it's a good wine,
heady and bold
she knows her skin no longer fits
the angel cards have told
her twice this week
she is living a lie
she sags and slurs
and somehow
she knows
the truth is harder than
the lie...
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