My face may have its origins
in sex , like it has for everyone
My masks did not
They were designed to avoid the
one act at which you are an expert
They imitated your expertise
in their glows and hues
You were jealous of the craft
Practice has made the mask perfect , if it has …
I am the half platonic specialist
You are the expert of the missing half
SEDUCTION
nice. are recrafting the clay of the original sin
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Your poem invites conversation. In its brevity you manage to reveal how you – as the writer – designed masks “to avoid the one act at which you are an expert… You are the expert of the missing half.” I wonder who the “you” is – and if he/she knows themselves to be such an expert in “the missing half”. Well done; gets me thinking.
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Poems can be dialogues with a missing half. That is the muse. He or she can be a fantasy or a real person , it is a world of imagination with no real consequences….
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