Eyes in the back of my head
I am condemned to stare out
at a world without you,
the separate, the conjoined,
forbidden to stroke your glorious face
or tease your tousled hair,
my breath easing over your chest
tracing veins to a constrained heart.
I long to break free of this cast
to explore the chill of moulded skin,
my whispered words melting rules
in a fever, prejudice thawing.
I sense a subtle shift of atom, grain,
attitudes carved on marble plinth
crumbling like archaic parchment,
a whisper of change escaping.
Nearby a butterfly flirts in air,
patterns matching wind-shift,
its dance, a flutter of colour
in a world confined to black and white.
Too cool it basks on stone or rock,
adjusts, spreads its paper-lace wings
and absorbs the warmth in its form,
content in its evolution.
Kate Young lives in Kent with her husband and has been passionate about poetry and literature since childhood. Over the last few years she has returned to writing and has had success with poems published in webzines in Britain and internationally. She particularly enjoys responding to Ekphrastic challenges. Kate is presently editing her work and setting up her website.