On this burgundy carpet, I lay
layers of loops surrounding me.
Dust wanders in patterns
settling into my crevices.
The cream color of a soft underbelly of flesh
kisses my molded form,
sinking me further into the plush
of the old burgundy carpet.
Sunlight streaming through tinted windows falls on sticky fingers and butterfly lashes. Melodies sung through an orange peel smile stir her to dance, the unraveled hem of her nightgown brushing against the kitchen floor. She knows that bruises tend to fade and that cuts tend to heal so she cakes her knees with dirt as she tries to grasp the top leaf of an oak tree. Sun warmed footprints follow her into the house, and when the earth smells like it’ll never stop raining, she crawls under the covers clutching a flashlight and a cardboard covered book.
She was helplessly human. I miss her.
Music wafts in static silence as I trace my name in shaky capital letters, wiping away fog clinging to the car window. Night’s darkness envelops us and guitar strums become galactic gore dripping from unnamed heavens, sweeter than honeycomb. Melodies swell and constellations burst like fireworks as owls hoots disturb sleeping children. I’m awash in half-baked light, patterns shriveling, expanding, floating into wisps of purple, fragmentations of fantastical celestial cosmos cool against my fingertips.
Trembling fingertips against cool, misty glass cause accumulations of fog to run. The drips contort themselves, blossoming into half baked thoughts and wasted space. Draw something that counts. A poor imitation of your name, the letters faded away by the third syllable. Or a clean slate, by which I can now see the dawn slice through the cloud formations over the harbor.
The wind rippled through her hair as she stood across the pier. Through slightly parted lips, she reached forward as if to grasp me from thin air. But only murky water swirled around us, taking her words from my ears.
I miss you.
the act of poetry is a private one
but unyielding i still whisper your name
devoured by foaming ripples & wishes --
i miss you
Brown hair, faded freckles,
draped by a paint-splattered jean jacket.
Intentional? I think so–
a misty reflection trembling
in the momentum of it all.
An imitation of perfection,
naked eyes, frozen smile.
Who are you?
A face distorted
by droplets of murky water & gray sky.
Clouded light plays on your cheeks,
painting smudges of ivory and blush.
I reach out to brush them away–
only to be greeted by the pane.