In black and white

she let the steam from her coffee

rise above the page boy haircut,

dance for the shortest

time around her eyes,

deep, beautiful, the sparkling seduction

of a desert song at dusk

and let the sigh of ages push

the coffee to its farthest shore

and the small bubbles of indifference

pass in their wake

like small tug boats caught in an

ocean storm.

 

I see her in monochrome,

the shadow of the day

falling over her face, the small wisps of hair

floating down towards the steam and

the seductive call of her eyes peering

over the top of the pristine, stark naked

cup and the absolution that follows

the bravery of just the hint of mascara

on view as it runs gently,

anti blackboard like,

black chalk upon a pale waxen complexion,

down her face and wells up on the edge

of the lost virginal ceramic.

 

Colourless, all semblances of shade and blush

removed, scrubbed clean, the affect austere,

harsh but with love in her eyes for the camera

bleaching her soul clean,

removing the stain of ages by taking her down

forever in a lush land of blacks and white

motionless save for the cooling steam

and the small tug boats saving lives

on a distant foreign shore;

this is the desolate and the barren

as they fight for the right

to offer her contrast, the unspoken contract

of a voice unheard.

 

Inspired by Mercy Elise.

Ian D. Hall 2015.