With that jarred smile As your pupils contract Little ink-splotches in the blue sky Of your irises
With those raised eyebrows Asking the silence, ‘why?’ Your shoulders folding in, like dove wings Protecting your broken heart
With those pain(t)-soaked fingers I’d like to touch once more Though I hate to see you so frenzied, You look like a dear, in headlights
"With those tortured eyes absorbing blocks of brie; wishing for a little w(h)ine- I am pitiful, love me."
Sorry. I got lost in the rhythm of self pity and added a verse just for the pleasure of twisting the knife. Bad, bad Bill...
It appears life has given some poor soul a swift kick to the belly (via some sort of female trouble, perhaps?), and the only response is 'why me?' I hope you didn't back over the poor lad to determine what you just hit. Bad, bad Kristen...
I pray you're not the ambulance driver if I'm wounded on the roadside. PAIN-FULL!
Nice double plays on pain/t and deer/dear... both carry many associations: those fingers you want to touch again seems to me to be for someone who has been through much the same things as you. Empathic love... artistic pain etc etc.
The play on headlight-fuddled deer... is quite a cute image, and one that makes this person out to be quite unknowing of the situation, one in which you're the one who is or wants to be in control.
And yes, I agree with you about people who are endearing when wounded description. It's often comical, and often sad at the same time... a myriad of emotions really.
Sounds like you like this fella hrm. If so, get your pickup running and your headlights on... j/k.