I'm pacing the dusk dark
Of my backyard,
Feet sinking in the
Winter-softened ground.
One headphone in,
Singing to me of summers
I never experienced,
Ignoring the sirens
The next street over;
Stanching the fire,
Calming the blaze.
I glare at the blossom-less
Magnolia tree;
The absence of the flowers
Screams yours too loud
In the forced quiet.
Strip me from your branches
Like winds ripping
Away
The rotting white petals
Clinging to life.
Does my scent cling,
To your clothes,
Your skin,
Your lips?
Or does it leave,
Rippling off you
In
Curling
Smoke
Blossoms.
Did you know
That the heat of
Your finger tips
Leaves cigarette burn scars,
Coiling galaxy spirals on
The small of my back,
Pressed against
The spaces of my ribs.
On my autopsy they will discover
Marks from your lips
Seared into my bones;
My knuckles,
My neck,
The curve of my shoulders,
The sharpness on my collar bones.
k.f.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC
I'm pacing the dusk dark
Of my backyard,
Feet sinking in the
Winter-softened ground.
One headphone in,
Singing to me of summers
I never experienced,
Ignoring the sirens
The next street over;
Stanching the fire,
Calming the blaze.
I glare at the blossom-less
Magnolia tree;
The absence of the flowers
Screams yours too loud
In the forced quiet.
Strip me from your branches
Like winds ripping
Away
The rotting white petals
Clinging to life.
Does my scent cling,
To your clothes,
Your skin,
Your lips?
Or does it leave,
Rippling off you
In
Curling
Smoke
Blossoms.
Did you know
That the heat of
Your finger tips
Leaves cigarette burn scars,
Coiling galaxy spirals on
The small of my back,
Pressed against
The spaces of my ribs.
On my autopsy they will discover
Marks from your lips
Seared into my bones;
My knuckles,
My neck,
The curve of my shoulders,
The sharpness on my collar bones.
k.f.
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