He played a love song to a disparaged doll.
Never knew her.
Never found out where she came from.
Who held her before.
And with what hopes.
For her or for themselves.
It was her face that invited him in.
Told him stories he couldn’t resist.
It was her voice in his mind.
The smell of her bonfire hair.
The eyes that never rested on a single man.
The ever-seeking face of a doll.
Short of crying.
The features constructed
Never to collapse.
Never to expose the truth.
To him who seeks.
To him who desires.
To him who gazes.
And she withstands
The vast pairs of eyes
Of them all,
Their lifeless, outreaching arms,
The breath throttling itself within her.
“Ingres Painting of Maria Luigi Carlo Zenobio Salvatore Cherubini and his muse” by Unknown (1802 – 1872)