[LIST_SETTINGS_PANEL_NoItemsMessagePlaceholder] - not found
Please reload
Taken from my collection 'Lines'.
For how many years has that cigarette
Perched on the edge
Of your shadowed hollow?
Sandpaper stubble
Over the crevices
Of you sun-stained skin.
Intermittent whitened lines
Sprout from your scalp
Between childhood tones.
Your hairline gives birth
To a scored furrow;
Forehead’s ridges sliced.
Below, two vertical folds,
Embossed by two brows
Drawn together in moments of fire.
Splintered fractures of the eye
Signal a squint, laboured
By the star of the Med.
The glazed glass within,
Still impenetrable,
Like the lens through which I see you now.
Anyway, why are you staring at me?