Unfolding flowers, grasping, slipping through the future’s mist
The weights of fear and experience worn on a wrist
A touch, smooth yet microscopically rough, transfers words
Like a ****** postcard with postage stamps worn on a wrist
A god’s sculpture, a child’s toy, and scientist’s creation, a trinket –
The rust of effort and tears worn on a wrist
Wet from lake water, dried on a dock, then wet again by grassy dew,
Friend’s woven strings warmed by the sun worn on a wrist
Like museum displays, filaments suspended through champagne and handshakes
Everlasting elegance worn on a wrist
Twisting and folding, the doorways to gentle kindness and flinching pain
Choices and reactions worn on a wrist
Strings that pull with fist’s enclosure, blue laces act as highways beneath glazed skin
Flip over hands to a weak exposure worn on a wrist
Windows open on a Wednesday, a gaze across the room
27 bodies rising and falling
A look left – a look down – hair cascading:
Secrets and apologies worn on my wrist.
Jun 26, 2010
Jun 26, 2010 at 10:39 PM UTC
Unfolding flowers, grasping, slipping through the future’s mist
The weights of fear and experience worn on a wrist
A touch, smooth yet microscopically rough, transfers words
Like a ****** postcard with postage stamps worn on a wrist
A god’s sculpture, a child’s toy, and scientist’s creation, a trinket –
The rust of effort and tears worn on a wrist
Wet from lake water, dried on a dock, then wet again by grassy dew,
Friend’s woven strings warmed by the sun worn on a wrist
Like museum displays, filaments suspended through champagne and handshakes
Everlasting elegance worn on a wrist
Twisting and folding, the doorways to gentle kindness and flinching pain
Choices and reactions worn on a wrist
Strings that pull with fist’s enclosure, blue laces act as highways beneath glazed skin
Flip over hands to a weak exposure worn on a wrist
Windows open on a Wednesday, a gaze across the room
27 bodies rising and falling
A look left – a look down – hair cascading:
Secrets and apologies worn on my wrist.
Don't worry, I'm not a cutter. I just find the delicacy and machinery of a wrist to be quite amazing. I wrote this poem for a school English assignment.