Two of Cups from The Tarot of Why by Ron Campbell

Gouache, Graphitint, Watercolor and Ink on Paper.




Her body language was written in cursive.
Her smile a meticulous grimace.
He was in trouble.

He weighed the distance between them.
Memorized the blur of her.
Snow fell in the spaces where they weren’t.

His gaze swerved up her curves and parked on the bridge of her nose.
A smile idled behind a corner of her mouth.
He was in trouble.

The terrain of her was all valleys and sudden, perfect peaks.
Her glance a kind of surgery.
He was in trouble.

He read novels in her eyebrows.
She flipped through him like a magazine.
He was in trouble. 

He sidled.
She sauntered.

She didn’t walk
She let the tides roll across the muscles of her hips and allowed them to move her.
He was.
In trouble.

They were so close he could smell his heartbeat on her.
(trouble, trouble, trouble.)

They unmade love.
Made fuck their mutual verb.
He was in.


He took a breather.
She took a break.
She rolled on top of him
He was in trouble.

Then a single tear sneaked out of her face and landed directly on his eye.
She was in trouble too.


Oakland, Spring 2012


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