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More poems by Linda PastanLinda Pastan | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Linda PastanBooks by Linda Pastan


Linda Pastan

Pierre Bonnard would enter
the museum with a tube of paint
in his pocket and a sable brush.
Then violating the sanctity
of one of his own frames
he'd add a stroke of vermilion
to the skin of a flower.
Just so I stopped you
at the door this morning
and licking my index finger, removed
an invisible crumb
from your vermilion mouth. As if
at the ritual moment of departure
I had to show you still belonged to me.
As if revision were
the purest form of love. 

Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 21 Mar 2018 10:08 PM | Viewed: 5537 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/3207/ | Viewed on 21 March 2018.
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