Poetry

Painter – Ally Ameel

he had his mother’s nose

sharp

like his wit

 

he had his own eyes

blue

orbs

that I could sink into

holding on to the white irises

little ships

to keep myself from drowning

into the black hole

of his pupil

 

he painted

me

 

strokes

at first

a mess

like my heart

when he tried

to pull me inside

of those eyes

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