[Woman in a black dress, Tamara de Lempicka, 1923]
A few words. Just a few.
These lines don’t need to say a thing to you.
I’ll pull them out of spontaneity,
And press them onto paper you won’t see.
As I proceed, the process becomes all.
I have to love the pressing of the line,
Combining spurts of mind describing now.
You would surprise me with your casual glance,
And even more if you perceive the layers.
You’re not my source of tangibility,
Not blinded you who does not care to see.