his desires bloom
staring at her two lips
the rarest of all flowers
breathing life into his desires
stiffening a hard stem
as their bodies take root
folding together like a hem
pumping seed into her cavity
baring the juices of a fruit
into a fountain
that will never end
In this foreign city there are no camouflaged men.
Too soon I am returning to the land of camo hats,
work boots that track mud over
my heart, little white carpet.
In Vermont, you either blend in with the mountains
or look like you’ve just walked in from shooting Bambi’s mom.
We smell like autumn leaves and fresh air -
embodied natural sugar.
Pale, like the clouds in my coffee.
We brave the cold and enjoy the thaw,
melting all through August.
That’s when the river is ripe for skinny dipping.
At night we hear the rush, flow, rush
of water someplace.
All we hear are tree frogs, and both sides of the pillow
are always cold.
We like sweet, chill, crisp:
passed among friends
like the flu.
Our words flow sweeter
fueled by gasoline rainbows
like 2 a.m. speeding
and we’ll laugh too
even if we didn’t get the joke.
It just feels good.
And! I almost forgot tire swings,
our barefeet on ripped trampolines;
those screen doors our mothers always told us not to slam,
and citronella candles on front porch coffee tables;
that one white plate with pink/green framing vines
all our grandmas had;
eating rhubarb pie with plastic forks;
wiping our hands on our jeans.
Never afraid to get a little Earth on us.
It’s the soil we started from,
the dirt beneath our fingernails,
the mud across my heart, little white carpet.
When my winds cease to blow
And the glow of daylight
To no longer show
Will past digressions be visited upon?
Or be decided the forgiveness
That my heart has longed?
When I am laid to my final rest
Will hurts abscond from my weary breast?
Or will heartbreaks follow me
And linger for, all eternity?
When your heart is the ocean
it feels like every tide is ready to break,
bloom bruises along the coastline
and send tsunamis through my veins.
There’s so many secrets in my chest
that it hurts to breathe sometimes,
I choke on all that hurt, and I need more
than the salt in my lungs.
Truth be told, it’s lonely on the edge
where everything is green and
you’re just another shade of blue,
so ready to destroy (but not
in the way they want you to).
it has been so long
since my fingers fashioned fury
my sadness has been gnawing at my skin,
crying for a way in.
my sorrow has dissolved
into my lungs
in my wounds.
i have been drowning for so long;
my iron limbs
that once acted as armour
have started to rust
and left me immobile.
so forgive me
if the oil takes a while to work
If you never been amorphous,
It's going to be hard to feel me...
In this Verser, it's just a message
To get you baffled.
The "Apple" of their (I) eye,
Has got manipulation on the "Monopoly..."
That's why he's unorthodox,
He move's in sinuous paths...
I never understood poetry in school,
could never comprehend how words
made themselves join into sentences
that rhymed deep inside your brain
making you wonder how the English language
worked, for every word I read flew way over my head.
I could never see past initial meanings
and wondered often how hyperbole worked
as I stayed up late at night
wishing I knew the difference
between metaphors and similes
until the night drained over
and dawn threatened to show.
I didn’t know why Frost
spoke of diverging roads
or why Keats
wrote about love lost.
Until I came to Grade 11
and the reality of the world
with all its hidden secrets
was born bare.
how roads seeming so straight
could be crooked in all sorts of ways
and how promises made
to be loved forever
could disintegrate into ashes and dust.
I never understood poetry in school,
and I do not understand it now.
For, everything is poetic,
the same way everything is not.
Your love is like,
of moving light,
through your big beating heart,
an intriguing energy,
outward to the skin,
pulsing through your fingertips,
emanating from your spirit,
piercing me those eyes,
than I have ever known,
my soul to soul connection,
one deep look-
so hauntingly familiar
our eyes meet,
an we tie the moment,
creating the most exotic
parallel universe of our own,
right in each others arms.
Ma Cherie © 2017