By Wednesday
I’m ready to
unhook
unhinge
unfold.
Peel this pale skin
right off these overtaxed bones
& let my soul sip
on all of the thoughts
I scolded myself
for thinking
while I walked
across the company parking lot.
I’m sure she would tell you
that those sipped thoughts—
they taste like slow jazz.
They envelop the tongue
without permission
& casually uncoil into
all of the beautiful,
tasteless language
that is able to seamlessly
twist and bewitch.
I’m sure she would tell you
that anything
worth a sip
is forbidden,
as she cups her palms
& presses them to your lips.
“Have a drink,” she’ll say,
“You need some color
in those cheeks.”
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 11:37 AM UTC
By Wednesday
I’m ready to
unhook
unhinge
unfold.
Peel this pale skin
right off these overtaxed bones
& let my soul sip
on all of the thoughts
I scolded myself
for thinking
while I walked
across the company parking lot.
I’m sure she would tell you
that those sipped thoughts—
they taste like slow jazz.
They envelop the tongue
without permission
& casually uncoil into
all of the beautiful,
tasteless language
that is able to seamlessly
twist and bewitch.
I’m sure she would tell you
that anything
worth a sip
is forbidden,
as she cups her palms
& presses them to your lips.
“Have a drink,” she’ll say,
“You need some color
in those cheeks.”
© Bitsy Sanders, September 2013
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