A light touch of Romanticism
RUIN OF LISA He cannot will himself to look away, Though she is as small as a rose, And pretty with thorns and all. Having many suitors that stare. Her smile shines so fair. And her eyes dart back and forth, Like the dust devil that follows him. Her terracotta colors enamor all, but he desires to steal her away, to place her above his open flame, so he might bore into her like the sun, and have none that touch her behind the reflective glass. Of wine he sips her sweet sensational subtle lips. As the seasons change his lovely Lisa becomes whatever he fantasizes, artsy with scarves and sunglasses, at the fall and rise of the procurator’s temperature. 6/28/2017 Romanticism
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