Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
saige Jan 10
Wish i could pen you down
so some breathing thing
might someday read
the myth I couldn't
finish

come on...
Wish I could pin you to
your father
-'s favorite fever dream,
a prophecy

and karma...
Wish I could pin you on
some fiddy
                        wish
                bones
        ­     i
broke

an honor...
Wish i could pin you like
a purple heart
across my real one
did you feel it?

Wish you could've
pinned me down
and taken what
you needed

to
          be
                    free
           of
me.

And I'll admit,
I've even wished
to pin you down
and ask you why
you didn't

except...

you did,
hm?

(you've a lot to teach
this breathing thing)
Inspired by a miscarriage that's like a painting, like one of Gogh's; no one even knew it existed until he was gone. Yes, the third stanza kind of quotes Cotton Hill. It's the worst thing I've ever written, but it makes me laugh, which just might make it the best.
saige Feb 2020
No wonder each tickle is seismic
There are mountains in your fingerprints
Tiny topographic maps
I want to sculpt a range of them
All peaks, plateaus and lowest points
All jades and pines and shades of you
And epoxy brooks will pool
Where swirls of myself etch the plaster
For if I touch you,
I thirst to water you
I thirst to water you
saige Feb 2020
Mon bijou,
I don't need a diamond
When I could build an island
From all the pebbles you remove
From my shoes
saige Feb 2020
I clasp the chrome chain of the
white choker he bought me
This might be the most bridal I'll
ever appear
Still he swore to show me I am beautiful
enough
And a hard copy of the clinic results
And how to inhale angel dust
Sniff once, look up, then again
Into my lungs, let it drip down my throat
I could make little rows on his chest
if I want
Little lines I never thought I'd cross
God they go on and on and on and on
saige Aug 2019
And therefore?
Your eyes are marble
Your heart's a boulder
You saw Medusa in the curtains
I believe you
Nonetheless
You are a stone
I cannot skip
saige Aug 2019
Sure, I put the rouge in your eyes
And that apple in your throat
But relax, little boy
This is not a backstabbing
I am simply returning
Your godforsaken rib
i can rise without it
saige Aug 2019
Thanks to that velveteen tone he
saves for me
And his turpentine diction,
The cliches that made my eyes roll
Now make my heart rush

Nonetheless, my thoughts riot as follows...

(When urged to call him something cheery
something no smile can wane at
like that fleck of gold in his left iris)
Well, "sunshine" should suffice
And Latin for that equals
"Apricitas"
Which phoneticized equals
"Opry cheetahs"
So the obvious endearment here is
Opry

(When urged to call him something pure
perhaps upon watching him blink
or blush
or blow
cigarette ringlets away from babies)
"Snowflake"?
No, that's a slang for ***** these days
So, "raindrop"
Yes
If Latin is dead,
It sure knows how to haunt me
"Gutta imbrium"
Ember
My little ember
The only glow in all this charcoal

(When urged to call him something pretty
when he's brushing his hair
or allowing me to arrange red clovers
in his sideburns)
Hm, let's testdrive "moonlight"
Let's shift into Latin, "luna lumen"
Thus the nickname I bite back is
Lulu

/Lulu/
While I hear darlings and dearies
on the daily
Why must I fail to mirror him?

(When urged to call him something sweet
like the butterscotch kisses he whispers
into my knuckles)
Like a honeycomb
Or as Ceasar would say, "cera mel"
Close enough?
Caramel?
Carousel?
Dizzy, then

We spin
In silence

(When urged to call him something cute
with his cap on sideways
and his head in my lap
and the world at my heels)
Kitten
Catalus
Catapult
Half of that backwards might as well be
Tulip
Two lips
Two tongues
Too much, yet never enough of his
Smoke bomb pomegranate mouth

For heaven's sake, see?
That's why I kiss instead of speak
Next page