I'll find you-
in muted early morning light
falling around curves of flesh
causing ancient thoughts to ignite
and filling hearts with forgotten splendor
Twin dermis seeking safety will reunite
each of it's tingling nerves not one abandoned
and that rising sound of steel through icing's delight
not thickened tension, but sweet release.
Mouths collapse into endless fight
struggling to find air and words
the tongue lost in the traces of night
but finding moments to escape
to prove it's adoration isn't slight
Now rusty parts slide and shift with ease
and fingers clasping mechanisms tight
cogwheels greased with desperation
put out the flicker of shutter sight
grinding out sorrowful sighs of pleasure
demanded and supplied with might.
Anxieties of separation sedated,
the buzz of humming-bird like flight
Created nothing less of surrender
frustration having taken the largest bite.
the depth of this dawn on the horizon
exceeded the sun's highest height
though the later day will bring it's sinking
and another tunnel-like plight.
Another sorrow will build upon itself, heavy.
When beings part, there is nothing like it quite
And there is only one recourse I see
this fiction of which I write-
Friday, July 23, 2010
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
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like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
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Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
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nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
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it's not possible. I think the problem must be- too much love and hate.
I love the rhyme scheme here, and the entire thing. great write Amy. :-) <3
ReplyDeletethanks Dana!!
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