THE FACE OF LOVE

Is nothing but a masquerade.
Lurking in shadows of a boudoir—
a tree unnoticed,
the tributaries of lichen on a rock—
a thunderstorm,
lightening without warning—
a tower of hieroglyphs
built in her name
or the contorted face of rage.
A loving face, the mute smile
of rare kindness undressed,
but when pierced—words vanish,
nostrils flare, tongue full of curses.
A pantomime monologue ensues
untying a knot of tormented love—
a mouth of dust and ashes remains
in a body splayed over dry leaves
that grieves:
a noose on a rope.