I am in the picture and I am out of the picture
I’m behind the door and I am moving westward
I am close at hand, holding a nest
full of birds
I am followed by rain, by clouds that know my name.
Touching your skin is like holding a curtain that opens
the vistas the contours of time
Just the shape of your wrist
is enough to convince me
I must kiss your limbs, climb the tree of your hair.
I am walking, walking, walking
but I am not really even moving
My body is formed and fused through tubes
of color with brushstrokes of humor.
I am in the picture because I know that you are coming
You are the true subject
I am only the object
My hands are reached out towards yours, I am holding your form
in its sway
and you are naked
and you are dancing.
IN THE PICTURE by Barry Curtis | Rose Noir Poetry Reed Diffuser
Born in 1953 Barry Curtis has written poetry for 50 years. Lives with a daughter and 6 dogs in an apartment in Birmingham, Alabama. And reads at a Spoken Word night each first Sunday of the month at True Story Cafe.
