Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2013
Your body took mine on a slow dance, slow motion
four days milliseconds stopped to whistle.
You, in my ear too, with your songs of the weather:
we meet the hurricane with camellia headbands
to water from left to right. Some of your
vessel had fell into mine – it buoyed, that naked sea.

I only knew about your skin and bones
how it bubbled when burned, a bacteria bathtub
and that your eyes became less than caramel
rather a stern grey. I gathered sand.
It made you a beach devastated by summer squalls.  

Next morning, a fog was caught in my throat –
thieved from those red-veined orbs.
The sheets said you tossed and turned while I dreamt
but I still awoke to your lips coupling my neck.

Lovers do not walk or limp, you maintained
and so there was a waltz beneath rain – time paused
as we sped up but the tide did not stop crashing.
I really dislike this poem, but I guess it couldn't hurt to post it anyway. Maybe some day I will get around to fixing it up.
Sarina
Written by
Sarina  forests
(forests)   
1.0k
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems