Carmen sits under lamp light
curled up in a red chair,
and from here
she seems to be much smaller
than the woman she is
on the street.
Quit staring at me..
but, I can't help it,
the transformation
is too beautiful to ignore -
her skin glows
translucent,
and the lines around her eyes
melt into the amber
of the evening.
The book closes
and so do her hands -
folded in the silence of a woman
ready to fall into bed;
Carmen rolls rum soaked weed
transported to Brooklyn
by way of
industrious cousins,
and licks her lips over
paisley paper.
Save me some raspberries
but, I am already writing
the first words
to this poem,
and I have eaten
all of the raspberries...
Adding your comment:
This is a wonderful painting of pure language, my Friend. I think David would do this penning justice with his brush, although it really doesn't need a picture, since it is already so visceral & lovely all by itself. I also think Carmen is very lucky to have you, even if you did eat all the raspberries. 
Very much like William Carlos Williams' piece, this holds such beautiful brevity within its powerhouse punch. 
Heyyy, now...don't Bogart. 
Humphrey was once quoted as saying "The problem with the rest of the world is they're always two drinks behind." 
Good luck in Gill's contest, Sweetie. 
No berries left...hrmmmphhh...leaving in despair...
