Pimples

Tis painful to feel
To part with thee
To eject thee from me
For thy have felt like part of me

Though thy presence
Gave my face
(And sometimes even my back)
Itch and Tenderness
I cannot help
But crave
To press and press
Till thy inner essence
(The rice like white matter)
Escapes like a volcano
Releasing pus and blood
Like pyroclastic matter
and molten magma
Spewing out of Mt. Etna
To splat on our mirrors
Forming images
Like those of a diviner’s
Searching for messages
Through cloud patterns

Now I know
That not only did thy
Created abstract art pattern
On our mirrors
But also thy created
Abstract art
Out of my face