I caught him,
Lost in deep trance, held
Inside the glassy painting depths
Montrésor, in ink.
Caught and pressed inside the glass,
Surrounds, a simple frame
Made by him,
To show her skill.
Between the cobbled streets,
And pink carnations in their beds,
His hand in hers, the smiles unforced.
"Come" she says
" No weary feet, the hills await, the sun is kind,"
He smiles, from some forgotten place,.
Where once she dreamed of him.
The painting keeps forever sweet,
Time compressed, thoughts complete,
Not fractured, broken or deplete
Upon his lips, her name
Poetry by 1LFD
Read 48 times
Written on 2022-08-06 at 11:02
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