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.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Tickle your toes. . .
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
-
two squinting painted eyes looking solemn on a leathery face. this knight of the golden age has a 20 gallon bucket of a hat atop his slicked... -
This is just a short note from me to inform you that after my extensive monthly study and subsequent written exploration of Psalms and Prove...
-
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but... -
July 7th the face of a rose deflates our windowsill- not much of a garden. July 8th after the party- a painting is crooked I think someone d...
-
lean in a little. say it like it's a secret. make your breath sound like italics. click your tongue against the roof your mouth then you...
-
Rain, dearest friend. You know just when to pound on my head. I know there is more to this world, than what I have given from inside myself....
-
Cal, For Elizabeth Bishop You are American gossip, Didn't anyone have the heart to tell you? You said yourself, you are fantastic and u...
-
The ache in my jaw reminds me of my age, that I'm still cutting teeth on broken sage and giving up meat is my best bet, because I'm ...
Poets United Contributor
This poem has a dreamlike 'feel' to it. Beautiful words and flow.
ReplyDeleteSomehow in this dream is a lurking nightmare that really only takes some kind of form in the last 4 lines! Fascinatingly disturbing!
ReplyDeletethanks for the reading! :)
ReplyDeleteYes, it does feel dream-like, then the sudden jab of the ending. Wow!
ReplyDeletethanks Sherry :)
ReplyDeletePoems 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.
ReplyDeleteI love it! Thank you.
wow, talk about hitting the nail on the head.
ReplyDeleteThank YOU!