published in Volume 6, Issue 4 on December 31st, 1999
Picasso would devour
the stained-glass curvature of her eyes.
He would break her down
to her principal parts,
rebuilding her around a smile.
To stimulate the pulse of an effervescent dance,
I crawl in synchronized steps like a hermit crab,
clicking my heels
in an absurd rhythm.
I make the night like a sonnet,
breathing life into the words
& words into the life.
She’d rather not talk about realism,
nor would I.