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 Rivers of mascara


Rivers of mascara roll their way

Down Rosie's cheeks, her heaving sighs,

Exhausted eyes, she cries herself to sleep.


Rivers of mascara cold and grainy on the

Skin, a broken heart bleeds in the dark,

Black rivers long and thin.


Rivers of mascara mark the night when

Things went wrong, tumbling over cheek

Bones, salty memories on the tongue.


Rivers of mascara ‘don’t swim there’

People said, deltas set against her,

Passions exit, lonely bed.


© Joseph G Dawson

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