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.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
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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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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...
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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 ...
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!