Talk to the hand

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Talk to the hand the face ain’t listening .

Don’t get that close to me I can see the tiny hairs on your neck bristling!

Screaming at me like that is just so pointless

I have done nothing wrong so why cause me so much distress.

I know every time I open my mouth

I say something wrong and then the whole day goes south.

Flight with the Doves

First the white foundation warm and just the right texture to stick to her face it’s colour causing consternation.

Then koal black applied around, above and below the eyes. Black, black as the night looking so stark against the white.

Lips now red as a rose or more to the point, the colour of blood as it flows from the heart emptying  a soul of life. The end of mortality the end of strife.

Brush the hair a hundred times, it will dazzle everyone the Moon it will outshine, it dazzles, it blinds.