Shrieking back from the blacks of her pupils
the round of her nose
the hammock below her cupids bow
In stillness is crudeness
is wrinkle apart from smile
is light apart from twinkle
It’s alchemy; no gold after mining,
it’s witchcraft; no pestle, no mortar;
it’s sorcery; no bone to throw, or leaf to split
In stillness is crudeness
is life apart from living
is god apart from man
I know the cost of what you gave me
and the price that I’ve sold it.
Take your picture,
just leave me in movement