On this March night, there’s
a beautiful Van Gogh sky
hovering outside my
bedroom window.
Above my maple desk
where I write this is
a Van Gogh self-portrait.
The jagged edges and
swirls in sea-green
pain moves me.
I wait for the coffee to brew.
Earthy,
dark notes fill the air.
I think of all the
women who have come and
went from my life, those lovely
thighs and wild dark eyes.
Often, I wasn’t good to them.
Poetry was my mistress,
and booze was my best friend.
I was afraid and confused
like a crossword puzzle.
Some of those women had
hearts like
a Dali painting.
Melting and just out of
reach.
Strangers to the
reality I needed.
A vision of your thoughts and feelings towards woman and poetry. Artistic, real and ever so clever in the execution. Nice work Thomas.
Thank you.