the mona lisa is surrounded by a
crowd so thick i can’t see past the
clambering bodies and shuttering
cameras and flashing lights and
the chatter of noise

i spill myself out into a hallway and
scoop up my pieces again and
walk like the sand inside my brain
hasn’t molded into a pearl which
nestles in my amygdala

i see the statue and i freeze
and suddenly the static of my
head ceases and the pearl stays
perfectly still and doesn’t roll
along the edges of my skull
as i breathe in what love is

her arms outstretched to frame
his face in the shape of a heart and
his holds her upright and covers
her softness so delicately from the
rest of the world and
finally everything is silent

his wings outstretched and
capturing the golden sun that
shimmers heaven upon marble
and the world is a microcosm of
swan feathers and cream-soft
drapes over thighs and me
admiring something real

i look around me and but nobody
is watching me and once again i
am the painting across the mona
lisa nobody seems to remember
so i reach out and brush my vulgar
self against perfection the cold
stone bites my fingertips.