Sunday, June 5, 2011

last waking hours

A woman's stance
feet parted so
that like a breezy window
the mantle opened slightly
lets in curves of salty air-
but here there is no, in
simply out there peeks
a corner of skin revealed
and just above the navel
a ripened orange,
brown with sugar
floats.

A bend and twist
of a monarch's
wings
A dart of fluttering,
flaunting
the color the butterfly
melts to buttery
compassion and cream.
And around your
body it does
curl.



Lifted setting sun
before the
walk of that green
mile, a foreigner's
thirsty hands
are quenched
and a broken
mouth is mended.
a face falls
as eyes close
as whispers
like wind chill,
biting.

A heaving breathless favor
rests upon a body of
silken nurturing
pillows with a soft voice.
Diffusing the despair.
Of dying will
and tired eyes.

These are your
last waking hours.
open and entreating,
She will cushion
your terror.
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7 comments:

  1. MaryJune 5, 2011 at 11:36 AM

    This poem has a dreamlike 'feel' to it. Beautiful words and flow.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Gemma WisemanJune 5, 2011 at 11:03 PM

    Somehow in this dream is a lurking nightmare that really only takes some kind of form in the last 4 lines! Fascinatingly disturbing!

    ReplyDelete
  3. bttrflyscarJune 6, 2011 at 6:31 AM

    thanks for the reading! :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Sherry Blue SkyJune 7, 2011 at 10:36 AM

    Yes, it does feel dream-like, then the sudden jab of the ending. Wow!

    ReplyDelete
  5. bttrflyscarJune 7, 2011 at 11:07 AM

    thanks Sherry :)

    ReplyDelete
  6. Wine and WordsJune 7, 2011 at 1:50 PM

    Poems like this, my mind creates a scenario. I suppose it is my nature, to reach for conclusion, to want all the facts. I see a man condemned...and through the bars, the brief glimpse of a woman...her skin. The vision is powerful enough to buffer death. He spends his last hours in this conjugal visit with a mirage.

    I love it! Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  7. bttrflyscarJune 8, 2011 at 6:37 AM

    wow, talk about hitting the nail on the head.
    Thank YOU!

    ReplyDelete

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