photo by aprokavics via flickr © |
this thought of her
(with a nightcap under low light by a lone window)
ribbon-ing erstwhile(s), she's a doorway waiting
I come up behind her
unfastening her dress
it was a fine fabric with
big white smooth
buttons, embroidered
slots to fit them
in and out of
she leans
I lean
we preen to an almost
falling completely inside
each other, a now
stuffed mostly with lips, neck,
light, shoulder and the other sides
of wanted and a perception
of being bitten bridle
and spit lingering
with dug hands sliding into
every little sway thrown away
while riding first knowing ridden
EJR ©
Lovely, poet ♥
ReplyDeleteSometimes poem says you have to go less abstract to distill potent contact in the right time lapsed synapse language...
DeleteEvery line break carries additional meaning, like the "lean" lines that also talk about starvation.
ReplyDelete"a now"s disappear so quickly as moments are blurred and unclarified, which an unabstract poem has the power to do to an abstract brain drinking coconut juice during hospital visiting hours --- which always end too soon, or not soon enough, depending on how scared you are of hospitals.
west of eden nodding in the doorway with hourglass cinch waist and the legs of a table I'm able this first day of meteorological spring to take my belly button lint and make eggs with it...I must be ovulating...or a mad hatter to be...
DeleteNow that, I can understand completely.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
Deletejust us burning down the mission...
DeleteSo much said in the tense switching. Tense switching. Sense twitching. Incense witching, kindled wishes for more scores of cored-dandelion fluff.
ReplyDeleteso I wrote
Deletehat on cot tin
roof and the sin
of ever loving rain
Even there, ever could mean always, or it could imply that you can't believe you ever did. Poetry should absolutely be baffling and contra-dictory, which is why what you do is magic.
DeleteThank you, for every little nugget or phat bone you throw at me to gnaw on.
You are the coolest, poet.
and sometimes I don't know what holiday it is supposed to be...
Delete