07 February 2012 - Faces Close - chant royale

Okay, I was a bit rusty with the last chant, thinking it came out alright but I could probably do better.  The thing with chants is that they are so long that it’s easy to get bogged down in the middle.  That, plus the fact it’s hard to do a lot of descriptive lines and leave the telly-ness behind; they’re very long.  But, I’m going to see what I can do with today’s poem, another chant, and put more poeticism within the framework.

This one is actually from an old idea I had almost 4 years ago but never employed.  It’s basically about a woman putting on her makeup and perhaps, a reason why.

07 February 2012 - Faces Close - chant royale

The mirror’s frame reflects where light has strayed

while porcelain fingers lift the brush like flame;

so careful, careful, ply concealer’s way,

in one shade lighter than foundation’s aim.

Deft hand, she dots the eyes and crosses tease,

her fingertips a sponge, her skin appeased.

Foundations then are strong should he explore,

a dot or two first here then there, restore

the hue that matched, brings color to the rose;

she’s just begun to build what night implores,

so breakup, makeup, place our faces close.

So delicate and intricate,  she sways,

and dabbing powder pressed not loose again,

she’s holding bricks foundation’s laid and prayed

that everything stays put and there’s no stain.

A saucer’s cream, her skin is lapped degrees,

yet brows await; more powder brushed will see

that pencil’s sin won’t make it out the door.

She’s found a slanted brush, a hard one scores

in lines that arch above her eyes and throws

attention back, affection’s sweets in store.

So breakup, makeup, place our faces close.

To cast a shadow, eyes will have their say,

and modesty won’t shoulder any blame

as light and medium lures dark to play

above soul’s window which lust vows to claim.

Adrift, delighted chooses shades in threes,

in thin line appliques, her lids marquees

where brazen sleeps with shy, demure implores

a liner brush that’s cake and damp.  Before

her lash’s line is found, each edge will pose

for highlights only dark to light affords;

so breakup, makeup, place our faces close.

Like darkest shades of night, mascara preys;

its feast forbidden fruit that flows and stains

when tears whose sudden fall brings track’s dismay

to cheeks of porcelain like treasured rain.

She places two thin coats that rise like sea

but sink like night and taken seriously,

she dares then smile and finding apple’s shore,

paints low to keep her eyes from being ignored;

alone is not an option she’ll compose.

Apply the blush which setting suns adore,

so breakup, makeup, place our faces close.

The facet of her mirror gleams and weighs

the velvet glow of skin which lust inflames;

she’s darkly sultry––nothing done halfway––

and narrow is the line of pleasured pain.

A pout of skin shows just one lacking key;

some lips remain smooth pink but never these––

there’s color that transcends what lens records,

and paired together, promise gapes, deplored,

as swallows wait and breath escapes, time slows.

She’s dark as plum and tart with lips’ reward,

so breakup, makeup, place our faces close.

She traces lines my love has lusted for;

she dresses for the mirror’s face and more;

there’s more than just respect as effort shows

when life meets love, reforged are broken swords;

so breakup, makeup, place our faces close.

02-14-12

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