Bad Poetry Friday

Brian’s Portrait (c. 1998)

If I had to paint your face

My fingertips would be the brushes

I’d start with your jawline

with four-o-clock shadow

And move to the arc of your smile

Trace soft lips stretching upward

I would not forget your dimples

Your strong nose

That has been broken countless times

Or your liquid eyes

Reminding me of my morning tea

Before the milk

And your blonde lashes that frame those brown pools of intensity

Then I would paint your smooth eyebrows

Meeting with your broad forehead

Your shaved head with three weeks growth

Would be last

Since I cannot recreate the softness of a baby duck.


You can stop laugh-crying now. It’s okay. Now you can see why I never sold my adult romance novel about the lawyer and the librarian.

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