Josie in her fakir faux  fur vixen coat leans backs
Surveys the moon which sings like Columbine
The backdrop to her French film soundtrack
The lights move to the left and the camera pans
A thousand sapphires glistening on her tongue
Beneath trees that are incredulous at her sleepy eyes
The air hotly wet and full of palely heated butterflies
Her skirts are feathered, her skin part of the weather
Which in this shot, is humid, dark and strong like coffee
All her pleasures are inside her;  strumming and  humming
An engine of desires, a soft machine projecting
Flicks of light in broken utterances, she shudders
As a hand emerges from the hibiscus flowers
Bearing sweet tea on a silver charger
All is made of unmade beds
All is unmade and never said, so is the end
Of consummation, the film breaks and flips
Walls whiten, and in whitening
The ending also ends.


Veronica Aldous 2016  All Rights Reserved



About Veronica Aldous

Writer and artist, Veronica is a lecturer is Fine Art and Creative Writing. Her first book of poems, 'Moon Cinema' is now available on Now there is also 'Mortal' her second book.
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One Response to Sublimation

  1. Barry Koplen says:

    you reminded me of a poem I wrote recently…
    Inside, the view

    Our love, its quantum nature, its love-hate embrace,
    double-spiked like an orchid I placed on your
    table before you arrived
    causes me to consider

    its stems, their name, spikes, and I shudder to think
    flower heads impaled when that’s not how
    they appear. Perhaps I can
    refer you instead

    to its cascade of blooms, a flowerfall of beauty, its
    grace that has so little to do with our time
    together but everything to do
    with love we see into.

    B.Koplen 5/8/16


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