Saturday, December 19, 2009

Villanelle: Two Chairs

The Painted Chairs

I dream the perfect canvas I dare not miss
With bluegrass music playing in the background.
I paint two chairs curving like a woman's hips.

In wrangler jeans, a woman decides to sit
In the room. The dim lights calm her down.
She molds the chair to fit her stylish hips.

I draw a man to watch her teeth and lips
Their bodies speak in rhythms beyond sound
Like piercing eyes on a woman's hips.

“Love always slides aloof to all my grips
Like rocks skipping across water before they drown.”
Her soul speaks like an anchor thrown from a ship.

They wonder how love grows without the slip
Of trust breaking this canvas down
To fragmented parts and manipulated tricks.

“Chairs cling to the floor and wait for us to sit,”
He says. Together, they stand to hold their ground.
In bliss, he reaches her face to taste the perfect kiss.
Two chairs now one are rooted by the hips.

--moon

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