It’s painted on the portrait with velvet-like finish:
The face of a young woman in pink
Behind her half-shut lids coronated with the longest lashes:
Her deep-seated eyes of the brightest blue
Though dear and touching her simple stare compels
When a flock of lust so thick darkens the irises
The silent charm that had reigned now flutters
Sound of wings like thunder that drums the heart.
The dead air rippled by its unembraceable touch.
—Cyndi Gacosta
Cyndi Gacosta was born and raised in San Diego, California. She spent only a few years of her early childhood in Sorsogon, Philippines. She studied literature at UC Santa Cruz. Her work has appeared in other literary journals such as The Walrus, Monongahela Review, The Toucan, and Vanilla.
