Pleased

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The pearls of goat cheese in my salad
pleased me,
as did the chilled progression
of wine, glass after glass sliding
past the back of my throat.
Wandering the galleries pleased me.
I spoke with no one,
that pleased me too.

I touched a sculpture
(no one saw me tweak a nipple, then
twirl my finger in a navel)
and this made me feel
most myself, smiling sly with pleasure.
Degas hissed misogyny,
and Matisse blathered on
about the female form being
reduced to a few lines
and a bowl of fish.

I found you nowhere,
stumbled over my skirt
into illustrations
and lost my breath,
the heat of which was potentially
damaging to a collection
of rare photography.
A docent raised an awkward eyebrow,
asked if he could help
and I sobbed I needed to find
space in wich my heart
might break.

That last part didn’t happen.

This is what happened:

I thought I felt your shadow
in a hall of human degredation,
and tried to chase after you,
but instead I found Buddha
sitting in his lotus.
He looked so damn pleased
with himself I wanted to slap him
because I realized I was so alone
and I would not find you
and this displeased me.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2017/04/12/pleased/

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3 responses »

  1. I love the weaving of mischievous fun to the unpleasant feeling of being alone. It fits somehow & adds this whimsical adventure with the gravity of reality. An authentic experience of the mind. Well done.

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