Tell me about your first.

But she was a pathetic palette, love,
a watercolor woman with
drip-dry hydrangea bush eyes,
over-saturated skin,
sea sponge cheeks
and dramatic eyebrows,
likely salon-dyed.

You roll your eyes.

But seriously, buttercup,
she was one of god’s messy mistakes,
a fragile first flower
of my sexual spring
taken in easily by a cold,
hard pressing,
a faint frosty memory,
her skin barely contained coloring.

You hold up my phone. Scream.
“Liar!” I look at her images
and they engorge me,
even in the abstract, she is art;
her pixelated appearance
aquarelle hair,
her perky pigments please me.

I clear my head. Reply,

It was but a weak, suspended affair.
The tenderness was barely there, I stare
as I delete pic after pic. I feel it.
There’s wetness now, but it
won’t stick, and I pause to remember
her watercolor thighs,
one more swipe
her petals plucked,
my favorite flower dried.

The memories barely held color, dear.

I see graphite in your gaze,
a mouth of masking tape
which worries me
this too will saturate.

© khartless 2022, All Rights Reserved

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The Artist: Andrew Ostrovsky was born in 1964 in Odessa, Ukraine and now live in Port Angeles, Washington, USA. For one reason or another, he has always perceived things, objects and work of art as having their own souls. Colors, shapes, textures move him almost as much as human drama. Interaction and fusion of scientific, inanimate and humane serves as conceptual basis for good portion of his work. Visit his gallery: https://agsandrew.myportfolio.com/

This piece was written for ~ Exploring Ekphrasis Contest with Captain B2 & Dan Dischino