Pretense and Innocence

Pretense and Innocence

Lipstick, cherry blossoms, premium wine
Sweet smiles, crimson kisses, cruel to be kind
Heartbreak in high heels, posh and refined
Perfume and cigarettes, clouding your mind

Black lace, pouting lips, too good to be true?
Laughing eyes, trace her form, feel like a fool
Queen of hearts, teasing quips, toying with you
Passion games, cruel to win, but better to lose

Politics, pursing lips, wasting your life
Find yourself, turn around, madness is rife
Pretense, common sense, true bliss is blind
Heart and soul, conscience, make up your mind

Spin a compass, which way do you choose?
Drive to Kiyomizu, late night for two
Short skirts and malcontents, what can you do?
Buy a ring, make a wish, try to be true

Perfume, crimson kisses, how can you lose?
Queen of hearts, teasing quips, fooling with you
Innocence, any sense, true love is blind
Heart or soul, conscience, make up your mind

Pretense and innocence, nothing is new
Either way you turn, love’ll cut you in two

— Dean Bowman

About the Work

Author's Note: This poem was written during a time of reflecting on intimacy's paradoxes—the tension between image and substance, gesture and intent. And, of course, a certain lady. It plays with theatricality: lipstick and high heels, crimson kisses and perfume, all symbols that conceal as much as they reveal. I wanted the rhythm to feel compulsive, like chasing something already slipping away, the way young romances bloom and wither in almost the same moment.

Inspiration: The setting was Kyoto, late spring (平成4年). I remembered a night—part real, part composite—a date that moved from Kiyomizu to Arashiyama to Kawaramachi, and then... some things are better left unsaid. The experience shimmered with beauty and dissonance. That atmosphere of romance, ruin, and choices left unmade haunted me until it found form in this piece.

Process: This was a departure from my usual short-form, free-verse poetry. The poem arrived almost whole, then underwent extensive structural and line edits as I searched for words that could create their own rhythm and beat. I wanted the language to walk the line between elegance and ache, with rhythms and rhymes circling back on themselves to suggest emotional repetition—choices remade and relived. It also had to be true to lived experience while also being abstract. Though the voice is stylized, something deeply personal runs through it. The poem knows what it's playing with and who it's protecting.

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