Madonna (Edvard Munch, 1894)
an oily drop of red and black
illuminates the darkest corner of my being,
strip-stripping my clothing
to my naked heart’s beat-beating.
sunken hopes and shouting thoughts
in the spider’s web are caught,
yet, inviting the other eye to hear and taste
to touch and spread to a different place,
an unlike home than that I gave
but not for me to like or crave
for now the livingness of my chord
plays in another and there it grows…
and I am
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Butterfly and Cocoon 
i am glad it found its place to grow….smiles….and sometimes it is a slow stripping away to that in most place….
Yes, I think that inner sojourn is vitally important, it feeds the poetry, allowing us to share something true with another. Lovely!
i like the strip-stripping and beat-beating.. the oily drop that spreads and does its work…
this reads like a deep and true heart-pulse of a poem. enjoyed immensely!
yes sharing poetry is like this =)
Your poem probes the centers of life for the origins of poetry. Surely it does lie there. Enjoyed this.