Lisa's Moan
Location
You are a centerpiece,
You are every art gallery.
You are Lisa's Moan
Panting under Leonardo's
Brush, echoing through
The marble halls of the
Louvre. Your skin is felspar
Pale but rough with purpose.
Your eyes are tinger and
For some reason my words
Set you ablaze. I am flint,
Useful when struck.
My lips are chalk; every
Place I've loved you and
Every place I've misplaced
My love trying to touch you
The way I thought you deserved
Shows like white lies, pale, and weak.
You are not alabaster. No part
Of you is decorative. You are
Whole ore, all rich mineral.
You are as natural as the
River that washed over you
Embedding freckles like stars.
Bone white and with every bit of
Confidence that marble lends.
I am breccia, made of shattered
Attempts and shards of once
Great statues of grandeur
That cut me in my sleep.
My geometry defies me, I am
The picture of infidelity,
My tongue is sharp and I keep
Misplacing myself and saying
Object when I mean Affection.