"What is done in love is done well." - Vincent Van Gogh
The sink stains blue as murky water drains
through five faux-horsehair brushes.
They fall on fading terrycloth,
thickest to finest, soldiers lying prone.
As water spills from tap to plastic cup
I glance back on the portrait still undone.
A seam of swelling sweat breaks my skin
from seizing seas within my chest.
The cup, empty, quells no storm.
I add passion and a hint of yellow
to my palette, adopted other hand.
The bare wood floor holds folds of red,
the heaps of cloth I've traced to last.
A crimson slash born of my trembling hand
becomes a curl of silk dress-ribbon.
A figure emerges. The brushes bloom.
I look up from my growing canvas world:
You wait in the shadows, poised as clay,
your red gown burning in your blush.
I carry your image into a canvassed heart
with the secret softness of every stroke.
The previous author prefers to remain anonymous, so name will not be published and prize will be awarded privately. I promise you though that this was written by a well known and loved dicer!
A very respectable third:
Account: Doge-Dice 97430
Honorable mentions in no particular order:
Ere the 14th of February,
Not much is known about the martyr St Valentine
a twist, a turn
I want to thank our esteemed judge, who shall remain nameless, for taking time to review all of these poems for us! :)