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teresa-smithPoems
Where would I not follow you, friend? Show me a depth of Hell to which your soul hasn't plunged, the bottom of the ocean has known your touch, the sky waiting for you to emerge once again like a little mermaid The Fall seems to follow each Summer, skin marred with freckles like the lips of the sun were planting fiery kisses on your shoulder blades You who know triumph like Ali in a ten round match that lasted 45, fists bloodied and raised over head, teeth knocked in, still standing You who can bring a grown man to his knees, but choose instead to lift him up, like you lift me up You who know the theory that connects all our atoms to those inside a clock, one whose hand somehow pointed you to me, like the needle in a compass redirects us An imprint, resembling something like a fossil, left on the heart of those you have loved People cling to you like they already know how good you are before you're gone Surely I would follow you, whose steps sound like a melody, your voice like a song that rings in my ears, a siren call to end a lifelong reverie, and which sounds, unmistakably, like home
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Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Basement Bars
Where would I not follow you, friend? Show me a depth of Hell to which your soul hasn't plunged, the bottom of the ocean has known your touch, the sky waiting for you to emerge once again like a little mermaid The Fall seems to follow each Summer, skin marred with freckles like the lips of the sun were planting fiery kisses on your shoulder blades You who know triumph like Ali in a ten round match that lasted 45, fists bloodied and raised over head, teeth knocked in, still standing You who can bring a grown man to his knees, but choose instead to lift him up, like you lift me up You who know the theory that connects all our atoms to those inside a clock, one whose hand somehow pointed you to me, like the needle in a compass redirects us An imprint, resembling something like a fossil, left on the heart of those you have loved People cling to you like they already know how good you are before you're gone Surely I would follow you, whose steps sound like a melody, your voice like a song that rings in my ears, a siren call to end a lifelong reverie, and which sounds, unmistakably, like home
teresa-smith
Written by
teresa-smith
American
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
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