Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 23
well now what do we write
After making places made to pout, allowed,

allowed
and pushing head against this only tiny worried forehead
only tiny creased
forming shapes of hearts by the curves of our lined fingertips
where i can tell
that you are made of turns of football fields
or strings of rounded yellow lights turned to
sticking; licked-off sugar peas,
Or with these shapes of coloured blocks of wood
Where You want to make a castle
before you turn 26-
-

(or you thought you were twenty,love,but couldn't even count that high -- )
And rivers pushing tufts of grass nearby,
To vague lines of horizon
covering out up on your little-boy mind
like the magic of worms who: - grow! back together
listing spells of crows croaking biting
beneath dark and spangling telephone wire.
How can i know that

how can i kiss you directly
against the
slightly dented texture of your
wide and warming heart?
Timbuctu
Written by
Timbuctu
175
     CarolineSD and preston
Please log in to view and add comments on poems