Fictions

His high cheekbones, intense eyes, full lips –

can’t look past the man (painted 

by a Nigerian) with long locks.  

I’m shown an internet page of primitive.

Art, my sweet cat, 
savagely chases a lizard.

Today, in calm early Spring,

my man’s been gone –

it’s four years yesterday

of thwarted passion.

(I’ve been reading a novel.)

A second poem written for the current Flash 55 PLUS! at 'imaginary garden with real tioads'. (If the words seem familar, they could be.)