Friday, October 9, 2009

Pre-teen Icon

With her shadow separated sharply and thrown

Into a corner

By a halo of musty blush,

Dust and mom-scent, she stands staring

her scared doll-face in its mirrored eyes;

Sweet six, soft and four-foot nothing.

Carefully and calm as cold hands

Places the point

Of bright crimson cheap hot lipstick on lips

and paints

her rag-doll posy of lips that are crinkled and pouting for me,

Playing my baby-pink leading lady.

She strokes the soft teeth bristles

Through her hair which glistens

Hot in panting lamplight, nervous and naive

As her smile of idolised

Idol-eyes shine so shyly into mine.