A Nude Woman Under The Eyelid

Steven Ford Brown


the eye like a lens
reversing the image
photographs hung up
in the dark room of
the head thin negatives
some so new still dripping


I brush my fingertips
over your eyelids
closing them to the song
of light a fingerprint
fades through the thin shell
into the pupil back into the
head where it too is hung up
it hangs wet & slightly
luminous in the dark


I will always remember
you in a certain way
your neck slightly bent
your body crumpled blood
less at an odd angle
the love song of a murderer
resting lightly on your ear
& I know that there are as
many deaths as I can think of
for you & that each time
you will die better
than the last


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