"benthic" poems - Hello Poetry

If you saw me I might be upside down, Different spectra of vibrations Pulsing from my goosebumped knees. I imagine if I sweep my arms back and forth Across the benthic stretches of our skies I may feel your structure In the crease of my thumb. I reach my hand out to touch you. Your elbow is somewhere in space, Bent a certain posture. It's possibly inverted, But it could be rigid and reaching for my hair. I think your forehead may point toward my collarbone, Protruding like deer antlers. In your universe my collarbone looks different, Objects that will never be metaphoric molds for my words, But exist in every third line of your poetry You may or may not write. In-between our possible distance There are millions of bodies, Or just a few. Neither of these options we can see Or touch. We will never know how close our blinks are. Yet I can feel my breath rush down my chin, Knowing if we ever found each other Your exhale would twist into mine.

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Apr 21, 2016

Apr 21, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC

elizabeth-o

Lightyear Distance Relationship

If you saw me I might be upside down, Different spectra of vibrations Pulsing from my goosebumped knees. I imagine if I sweep my arms back and forth Across the benthic stretches of our skies I may feel your structure In the crease of my thumb. I reach my hand out to touch you. Your elbow is somewhere in space, Bent a certain posture. It's possibly inverted, But it could be rigid and reaching for my hair. I think your forehead may point toward my collarbone, Protruding like deer antlers. In your universe my collarbone looks different, Objects that will never be metaphoric molds for my words, But exist in every third line of your poetry You may or may not write. In-between our possible distance There are millions of bodies, Or just a few. Neither of these options we can see Or touch. We will never know how close our blinks are. Yet I can feel my breath rush down my chin, Knowing if we ever found each other Your exhale would twist into mine.

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As the words became full cycle tendrils became benthic an extraordinary Work.

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Dec 8, 2012

Dec 8, 2012 at 4:28 PM UTC

topaz-oreilly

Artist abounding

As the words became full cycle tendrils became benthic an extraordinary Work.

3

Caught in a tank with the chimes bristling above. Slime hanging in the tension that breaks bones. Fair maid with a stiletto pick. Stop pressing, my dear. In fear of looking up anticipating two lungs capsized. A plummeting vessel praying through the facetious clouds. Dawn takes over and we refuse to stop. Locked in embrace: A false foot embedded in the substrate. Kelp explosions holding us lightly, grazing as we float toward the surface. Skeletons tangled in a mess like that summer when you looked your best. Take the last breath, plunging the depths to find at the bottom a two-metre tube worm. Squirming as my lungs burst. Post-partem. Pre-historic. Fleeting in the tunnel light thats eaten up by its benthic brother.

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Aug 16, 2014

Aug 16, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC

Gadus

Zora

Caught in a tank with the chimes bristling above. Slime hanging in the tension that breaks bones. Fair maid with a stiletto pick. Stop pressing, my dear. In fear of looking up anticipating two lungs capsized. A plummeting vessel praying through the facetious clouds. Dawn takes over and we refuse to stop. Locked in embrace: A false foot embedded in the substrate. Kelp explosions holding us lightly, grazing as we float toward the surface. Skeletons tangled in a mess like that summer when you looked your best. Take the last breath, plunging the depths to find at the bottom a two-metre tube worm. Squirming as my lungs burst. Post-partem. Pre-historic. Fleeting in the tunnel light thats eaten up by its benthic brother.

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