Saturday, December 03, 2005



When I was 59 I took Dorian Gray as my lover
it happened without my knowledge
I awoke one morning and he was in my bed
he’d stowed his valises under my eyes
heavy bags with no ticket for redemption
scaled the Everest of my cheekbones
where he puffed up plump pillows for his feet
donned his spelunker gear to excavate
the deep hollows of my cheeks
draped his weighty blanket around my jaw
and tenderly tugged to achieve perfect sag and droop
then laid tracks across my forehead
a contingency for a fast getaway

Dorian Gray loved me because...
I was as pretty as his picture

© Bette O’Callaghan

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