Nina S. Padolf writes

Naked Canvas

Loose skin swims about tight firm thighs

merges into reconstructed blended earth.

Our shadows dance around flames—

we laugh at our imperfection,

it takes patience to fit pieces together.

We sip days like sensuous wine

ripened burgundy swirls,

circles perfumed by time.

Between heartbeats, we gallop

with sunset into festivals

of lapis and tangerines.

Honeymooned painters—

our bodies canvases,

ready for brushes.

Nina S. Padolf writes

In Lust with a Narcissist

He feeds on praises
pumps his chiseled chest—
proud of his body obsession.

Pampers himself with exotic vacations
lavish lotions—
      sunbathed skin all year.

He arouses me with threads
of woven lies—
      spins me around
      intoxicated by his attention.

He washes promises away
with my favorite imported soap—
      lathers my scent clean
      while he gleams.

Summer roses fade—
I find myself again consumed
      by his disguise
      kiss his lips drown and slip.

Left with gnawed ache—
      what I experienced
      all fake.

Narcyz -- Ludwig von Hofmann

Nina S. Padolf writes

Conversation Between a Professor and Student

Tongues tied to trauma stick to the roofs of mouths

like peanut butter sandwiches formed in

little girl cheeks, where we learned to stuff it in—

not speak.

Family drama dug into our bellies, where bricks formed walls

mortar glued lips—

when we slipped

disobeyed household rules.

Today we talk of our mothers and their successes in neatly pressed

suits, elegant shoes, while they jammed laws into our jaws.

Our conversation doesn’t divide—

instead family histories expose broken stories

of dysfunctional relationships between mothers and their daughters.

We spit out collections of pebbles into clear streams

to recover from accumulated pented locked words.

 Severed lips -- Macy Baisch