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THE OPERA COAT

The curl of her hair no longer holds
Lips that invited have lost their brim
Forfeited also those puerile shoulders

Yoked to the label mature
Tethered to present space
Secured in her plot
Perpetual in her season

Her dreams day and night putter with her youth
Fiddling with bygone radiance
Dabbling in shaded remembrances
Tinged splendors
Hued luster

Stained plainness mocks her
Tolling time prickles
Dyed detours stand in her path
No deviations
Reality guides

Ah, but The Opera Coat
This illusion
This Matisse phantom
She embues with fauvian colors
A repast in her musings

Contours speak to her
Chambered silhouettes beckon
She tastes textures
She swallows shapes whole
She pleasures

Est ce moi!
As I would be
Today
Always
Evermore

Let it not evaporate
As she drifts
Unanchored.

Go on to Marriage Evening



from The Third Age in Paris
by Arleen T. McCormack

on Serendip
Write to Arleen T. McCormack

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