Sad Title-less Poem (it's sad cause it doesn't have a title, not cause it's a sad poem...in case you were concerned)
I will bludgeon my brain with understanding until it is malleable as cookie batter rolled out on my kitchen counter, anointed with flour and nibbled at by tiny saliva slicked fingers until my mind is a sticky sheet of impressionable goo that I can place on your skull and mold to your crevasses and idiosyncrasies.
How else will I truly know you?
Babysitting Ani
I choke on destiny
like unexpected tears
as she explores
the metal rings of my spiral
notebook with her fingers,
commenting in that foreign language
everyone adores and ignores.
She turns it over,
wrinkling it, slaps it, feels the spiral again
and sets it down
by her dimpled feet
which rotate circularly
as she discovers
dulled play keys to gnaw on,
drool slipping down the key ring.
blooo fishes
There are blue fish that hide in pairs behind the lids of your grey eyes that slip to shut when she is close to keep the fish safe. Perhaps those fish were burned by a past kiss and spent their days in a hospital bed far from your grey eyes. Balms healed lipstick marks on their purple skin ‘til blue scales shone again and the fish returned to watch behind the lids of your grey eyes. Their spines skimming your irises’ surface, the fish leap forth to glean the light that lives behind the lids of your grey eyes.
No comments:
Post a Comment