White, untainted,
a place replete with memories,
intimacies.
I see the mirror in the room,
then my face
with eyes undaunted.
Then the crack of
shattering, spraying glass
in an inevitable fountain
on the floor.
My eyes examine
the jagged forms,
inspecting their irregularity
and the strokes
of red genius
that make them art.
Warm trickles of blood,
mine and hers,
form the painting
and the white
unblemished floor
becomes my gallery.
A dead, still eye
sits in the foreground,
the centre of my masterpiece,
and greets my eyes
in a crystal gaze,
that is held just now,
held in this deathly lucid moment.
16/3/2016