A poem based on The Treachery of Images
No, of course it’s not a pipe,
and I am not a woman
looking at an image
of a pipe,
and this is not
a love poem.
Just today I did not put a frame
around my tears.
I felt them slip,
wet and messy,
hot and light
against my cheeks,
the rich and pungent
scent of smoke
nowhere
to be found.
Am crazzzy about this hear title.
Iza loooooves to make-a you crazzzzy!
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Sunday, November 20, 2016 at 5:15 PM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “Cher M. Magritte,”
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