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Caitlan Apr 2018
and as she rhapsodized
I could only watch in high fascination
the curve of her lips
the twinkle in her eyes
the excitement in her voice.

(like sparks)

a sweet keen of
metal on metal
that left me blinded
every time
Caitlan Oct 2017
How can I
With pencil and pen
Capture the words
That float in my head?
They flutter like curtains
In way of the breeze
They glide upon air
Light as small, falling leaves
They tickle my spine
Like a long, thin grey finger
Sliding down
Down until finally they linger
At the base of my tailbone
Nail pressing to skin,
I can feel the letters, razor sharp, digging in
They make home in the dip
Between my tailbone and back
They sink in my pores
Leaving murmurs and snack
On the fat
In my hips and my thighs
But leave just enough so
I hate my pants size.
It's so hard,
To gather my thoughts
For just long enough
That I'm able to jot
Them down quick in a notebook or two, perhaps three...
Six, seven-- It's endless how many
Pages I'd use to ***** the imagery from my dry swollen lips,
To release the simile like ice from my fingertips,
To expunge the diction adhered to my lungs,
To purge the exclamation stapled to my tongue.
Sticky adjectives extend from my limbs,
My fingers are pews where small men sing dark hymns
My body's a temple, my mind's full of shelves,
The walls are all rotting--
I'm caving in on myself.
How can I
With pencil and pen
Still survive
When the words
Have taken over my head?
I know the rhythm is a bit off-- it's better when spoken aloud, rather than read in my head.

— The End —