Betsy Robin Schwartz

A place sculpted by a first embrace

not nape

not throat

not truly shoulder or neck

I take a passion snapshot

and wake wordless

unable to define this obsession.

Twig and twine might catch fish.

Instead of a hammer, an old shoe can drive a nail.

But is margarine ever really a substitute for sweet whipped butter?

I kiss that spot between neck and shoulder.

The words describing a curve

eternally unblemished

are not found

in the songs strewn across my desk.

A roller paints a room, but not a canvas.