"A Lovely Lunch"
They are susurrations
Like the soft tremble of leaves
The clatter of lips
And the songs they sing, I discover
Have found place in my mind
And will not leave
They sit at table, our susurrations
Diners whose conversations
—Songs of communion in passing
While the moments between us
And there she sits just inches away
Her lips a’tremble in a soft delicacy
Of words, more filling than
The plate before me
Some are simply beautiful
Some are merely flawless
Yet only a few manage to rise above
That cacophony of sameness that is
Our manufactured ideals
Of perceived beauty
There are those—and few they be
For whom grace is as
The trembling of leaves—
The simple grace of a moment of
Exquisite inspiration
The straight line is mundane
In a forest of rigid conformity
She speaks
And even the tenor of her voice
Testifies of this grace
And I am...
But then, no
That isn't me
I am enthralled of no one
—This is what I tell myself
For I am not worthy of such notice
Every artist is unworthy of his gift
Though he be blest with sight few others understand
He should know the difference between
Intrigue and Infatuation
—I remind myself of this often
We sit at our ease
The table laid
Unseen plates starving for our attentions
The waiter bent and listening
And she silent beside me
The focus of our love
—That ray of sunshine
Two chairs down and across, laughs
And I feel better for wishing her farewell
I say goodbye to too many
And this is who I am
Always saying goodbye
Yet afraid to say hello for fear of it
And beside me, that other lovely
Insists I face my fear
I am intrigued
I know the difference between
Intrigue and Infatuation,
—I remind myself again
But her eyes are exquisite
And I cannot help but look
So I remind myself yet again
—You know the difference, Eric
You know the difference
How, then, to clear the palette?
—I ask this as I begin to sketch
It has always worked in the past
—Exorcise the imagery,
Draw it out and give it body
The susurrations of lips and silver
And the honest enjoyment of her voice
So I take the picture
Pull it from my mind
And put it to bed
Where are all the ghosts I've laid
Remembered with fondness, but
No longer a flame to fan my heart
For I've learned the susurrations of the heart are dangerous
And I've come to know the difference
Between intrigue and infatuation...
Until next time,
But it was a lovely lunch
ELAshley
091109.071226.6
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