untitled (giacometti)

you said

living with me

was like having

a giacometti sculpture

in your back pocket. that's hardly

a compliment

for an accomplice. am i that prickly

and artsy that you would have

me limned as a linear

exertion?

i don't need to go over

and over, revisiting the lines

of you as i inscribe your face in my mind.

it is a sad one, your face. i hate to think

that i've made it that way, but so be it. you'd

rather hear it from a stranger - that color

is incidental and washy - not something

defining your world; not really even enhancing

what has, for you, been determined to be

so black and white that there's no room

for the grisaille.

(c) jim hill (07-10-10)