you sprinkled your cinnamon breath on my
shoulders and i mistook the pattern for
freckles.
what i thought were sun stains were really
a spattering of thoughts that washed off with time and
water and
sleep.
They are reading your poems in Elysium
Students carry you proud as a myth
We stay poor
Seated beside a fat lawyer
Trapped behind an intense
Reclined discussion on guns
How to fit a boy to a rifle stockWe stay poor and tired
They are reading your poems in New York
In Prague in Sydney
You…
To be that tattoo you wear
on your wrist
(like jewelry)
of a gear
(like those in a clock)
with a bird
(wings outstretched
as though at the apex of flight)
encircled within it’s steel spokes
would be
(to me)
a perfect poem
(not a single unnecessary word).
How I would
Honey dipper lick
The syrupy nectar of your look
And bury book deep
In mahogany every flicker
Of your soft lash teaseOh, for the auburn of autumn park stroll
Caramel creaming a honey fire
Warming from the freezeHow wise the wooden oak crown of your irises
Ocherous, the feral of ferric oxide running free like wild horses
Hill strewn victims of your inner temptressWhose feckless fingers through your flames
Thought of autumn scarves flailing like flags
When only they needed to finger the freckles
Of your neck, cheek and slip a mark upon your red lip
Zari’s note: Excellent rhythm
constant richocheing black irises
my vision blurs because of it
i bite my tongue; rusty blood
can’t stop the lingering buds
violet and azul, moons they drool
i dream someday to be as beautiful
and then you come with ember sparks
tear my dreams and paint them dark
it’s still a mystery but i love you
i know you do too, i know you do too..
august rain after a summer drought
i keep sealed in a hole all i can’t shout
i stare at changing hues of leaves
crimson red, pumpkin orange, apple green
lingering and cool, suns they drool
i dream someday to be rid of your ghoul
you pierced your shards all over my heart
infected it with tears immersed in cancer tar
forever a mystery but i still love you
i know you do too, i know you do too…
Sanam’s note: This is another one of those prosetry pieces, and regardless of what it classifies as, it is beautifully written, and thought provoking.
harnessed between blade and bone; shoulder and collar, that is, a knot. my open hand is a rotting prayer card of forgotten gospel choir and floating dandelion heart. i’m trying to catch that next breath for the surfer on my tongue wading in waves of husk—
dust, darling.
dust, darling.
you must!
it’s funny though, you know: the way fingers resemble hooks… arms are not antique fishing rods, blood’s just seeped through my marble-wood. i guess i stood out in the rain too long to notice lovers of payphones need not carry loose change. my pockets, still landfills of limbless coin; their funerals, i won’t arrange.
Brown Eyes (or Cocoa)
Their look is the comfort
Of a leather notebook
Between fingers
Whilst slipping into the evening
Of a coffee-house
Those eyes are the homeliness
Of a knowing caress
With fingers that linger for more touch
Than public allows
Watching the slow talk
Of your lips
Plump with lick
Is the succulent warmth of chocolate
As it curls around my tongue
Just as flames wrap themselves around logs
And our legs lick a helix in my mind
Beneath the walnut of the table between us
she had words
a deluge, an overflow
of the right phrases
but no meaning
and he had actions
motions, physicality
all the right moves
but no feeling
With You
Somewhere new
would be scary,
troubled fear.
And all illusions
come with doubt,
but I still want
to go there
with you.
your name is
a hundred fishooks, tied to my skin,
pulling my heart apart, a directionless allegory.
your name is
a bitter taste in my mouth, a salty
tang; the blood from my bitten tongueyour name is
whispered by the wind, burnt
into the underside of my eyelids,
your name is
ignoring the amnesia and
not quite understanding why-
your name is
gone,
but not forgotten
About me
An assortment of my own work, but also reposts of works by other writers that inspire my own linklings.
