On Majorca, desolate, eyes red with preterition, he faintly cries, "Polonia." A figure resolves him. Her eyes the skies of his nativity subdue smothering horizons. His fingers finesse the loss she echoes within beautifully.
Her wrists, her wrists ... They could inspire his most exalted sonata. But alas, the piano is only a man-made instrument, and cannot render perfection ...
8 comments:
The last two lines added nothing and took away from a strong finish ... "His fingers finesse loss beautifully. She sings inside
him."
... Lovely girl. Lovely poetry.
If only her wrists were visible...
Her wrists, her wrists ... They could inspire his most exalted sonata. But alas, the piano is only a man-made instrument, and cannot render perfection ...
you know, I agree with beys on this, that's a killer closing..
but I wouldn't get rid of the last two lines, I'd swap the placement.
It almost seems like a sensory progression that way,
verbal - visual - tactile
beatiful though, regardless
beautiful even
I went with your, Sarai and Anon, suggestions and changed it. I find it ends better too...I did some other edits--I hope you find it suitable--
Thanks,
Zookeeper
P.S. Eyes, Image, Narcissus, Echo etc.....an easy trope.
Narcissus...
you don't say.
Thats one hot Polish vampire.
Post a Comment