"camisole" poems
On moon-damp sheets, you slowly open my violet fig, passing halves tongue to tongue,
its seed-pearls, captive minutes embraced by our soft lips,
each velvet pulse a swallowed clock tick, unthreading the night’s camisole—unstrung
Our minutes take root inside our souls, night’s vines in green hour’s gentle grip,
soft pods burst open, figs too ripe to cradle our desires,
their wet seeds, exploring, ticking onward—dreaming of a solar eclipse
Dawn’s pallid hand already tests the window, sprouting its cruel thorns and briars,
we stack our stolen seconds like leaves against the latch, a barricade of lost cries,
yet every green minute bleeds to gold, slipping through fingers, we tire—
Seconds steep in our bellies like sour home-brewed wine highs,
bubbles of yesterday escape—tiny pale moons clinging to folds and hips,
drunk on recycled time, we speak only in overlapping echoes of whys?
One corner of the mattress folds like a calendar page—blank, stripped,
our shadows lengthen backward, seeking last night’s candlelight,
Dawn’s fiery glow becomes a vortex of memory and lust—we slip, hip to hip
A seed-shaped cog spills within; its milk is bitter sun, not honeyed night,
the soft ticking falters—our wetness rusts the teeth of fragile gears,
we press our palms to the fracture, bluffing the hunger of day’s appetite.
All swallowed instants germinate in rapture; green shoots flare wild from every tear,
morning slips through the leaf-lattice, feral, unstoppable—death,
the room sighs oxygen unearned; we wake leaf-littered, dewed, a frontier unclear
One last seed, caged behind the sternum, ticks backwards, waiting for breath,
it counts in reverse, each tick a small fist begging still to be loved,
we do not let it out; we cradle the echo, its name?
Aug 24, 2025
Aug 24, 2025 at 2:45 PM UTC
The see-through pink camisole that I gracefully wore
Now lies disgracefully upon the ground,
Ralph Lauren on the floor.
Find my way between his knees
And teach what I have learned.
I could teach him many things
But I'd rather just receive what I have earned.
This secret must be hard to keep?
The whole house now knows his name.
And when this ***** get too deep
The whole house can hear my pain.
Nails dug deep into his back;
Deep enough to break the skin.
Lips inching towards his body;
Teeth sinking in.
Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma'am.
****** gotta fly.
Send him back to his white girl-
First,
Give me a kiss goodbye.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 9:30 PM UTC
I walked into the laundry room
to a couple folding into each other.
Her chartreuse camisole and his
evergreen boxers pined for a bough
break in the noise of twenty-something
cents rattling in the dryers.
They talked about peeling off
and sorting each other's skin layers
by darks and lights, trying to find
a neutral blush they could blend on.
My towels had three minutes
left on the spin cycle, so I walked past them into the dim-lit room, took
a seat on a dryer, and turned around
to face the cream brick wall and
pipes cutting on a diagonal, dividing
it into lights and darks.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
I swilled pupils behind your glass Then sighed into the telephone.
(…)
reflections of me peering out. /Against each felled bough
The sneering nose, /blooms indignity
supports a wire /swelling like vineyards
framing your visions. /over sultry horizons;
Beneath /I float and stare
a satin camisole /at equanimity
connected to me /vanishing in undue time,
below the belly. This was our ship /like my young grapes
taking on /dripped on your bodice
water. /while you drank with no conscience.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
Glowing on your camisole
Reflections cast doubt
On your role
As my suitor
Old time word
Still fresh to speech
Dead concept
Mouldy peach
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
*I see you sitting beside the road under a tall Elm tree
Near a thicket with a stream running by at your feet.
Your head held up by the one hand
With your elbow resting against the tree.
Your body turned away from me on one side.
Dressed in a velveteen camisole top with a white skirt – all alone.
As I approach you - you turn your eyes toward me
And say, “Shall you not leave me too, my love?”
Looking into your eyes I see somehow that I must be invisible
Because your question was not meant for me.
It was for the very thing in the essence of love.
Tears trickle down your cheeks
As my heart and soul sits down beside you.
You allow me to wipe the tears away
And I watch as they reappear one by one -
Falling ever so slowly into my offered handkerchief.
Then I set my handkerchief into my own tears and
Then back into yours once again.
All the while feeling the most
Indescribable emotions – ones for which
I have no way to dispose of or account for.
Taking you into my arms I say to you:
“Yes, I am positive that I have a soul within me and
All the scientists, nor all the learned professors
Or all of their books combined could ever convince me otherwise.
I know it must be true, dear one –
Because you could not be so lucky as to have the only one.
If ever love does leave you –
It will be to go to heaven to make sure that
Your place is properly prepared for you.”
You lean into me, holding me
Like a lost child in a never ending maze.
And then I awaken…
Another night passes into the morning of the never was.
Are things the way they seem
Or are they simply unfinished lines - just because?*
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
linen
still crisp
against my skin
underneath
silky camisole
i am armoured today
walking into
the dragons den
hoping to gain
much gold to craft
into treasure
but the dragon is wily
and hoards against
the thought of loss
be brave
my linen knight
your village needs this
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 7:45 AM UTC
Come to bed, darling, for sure the hour is late.
Most certainly, your conference call can wait.
The children are asleep and I’m abed,
So work must wait, come play with me instead.
Don’t waste these hours with fitful sleep tonight
when you and I could fill them with delight.
Unlace that camisole and let it drop,
A goodly start. I didn’t say to stop!
Then, turning towards me with an impish smile
Lose the slacks and add them to the pile.
Then, taking sight of my most firm intention
Remove your hose, the devil’s own invention.
When we are wearing just our birthday suits
Arch your back like a feline in pursuit.
Keep the heels, they’re red and bold I swear
They spur me to enjoy my favorite pair.
Those orbs of night won’t ignored my dear
As we effect conjunction of the spheres
We stifle cries as we make our cradle rock.
We'll tell the kids it was an aftershock.
Some nights are cold but this one needn’t be,
If you fall asleep held safe and warm by me.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
i) You talk about soft-serve ice cream in summer and all I can think about is the way your hands tremble each time you touch me; what are you so afraid of? You shake your head and lick cone-crumbs off your lips. I think I like you a little too much.
ii) Lily once told me that you were obsessed with aliens; fascinated by the idea that there were other forms of life in the Universe. I lie down on soft grass, look up into the darkness, and wonder if there is a possibility of ‘us’ in another galaxy.
iii) You are all curves, soft edges, and electric blue hair; so how exactly do you manage to cause this ache in my chest each time you take off in the morning to be with him? My brother sees me curled up with bottles of bourbon by the side of my bed, and says that I should stop loving you. I don’t know how to.
iv) When things finally end, it is one in the morning and we are sitting on the boardwalk, sipping coke from glass bottles, pausing to taste each other’s lips every now and then. You tell me you’ll miss me and all I want to do is disappear, into one of those galaxies you constantly think about. Instead, I grab my satin camisole off your lap, pull it over my head, and run.
v) The whole way home, I practise letting you go.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
If your the type
to only breathe through
the stitches
of your camisole.
And if you always taste like mint,
when kissed on the mouth.
Just because you don't want them smell,
the self hate.
That resides in the back
of your throat
in your breath.
You're also the type
to call me up
six am
asking for a
Friend
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
When I first told people, so many years ago,
That I could never get cold, no matter what,
I., myself, really, truly believed it.
It wasn’t a lie when it really was the truth.
No one thought that it was actually reality.
But it was my reality, not theirs.
They didn’t have to believe anything I said.
It was their issue, not mine.
Many people refused to believe what I’d
Told them so many years ago and then
Continued on to think was real
For so many more years to come my way
Eventually, the day came when,
I, too thought that. I may be wrong.
Sure, it could have gone a lot worse.
But it also could have gone much better.
The truly funny story comes here
So, see, I'm coming out of swim practice
And there's snow all around me
But I'm dressed for summer.
Coach Beth asks if I'm cold.
And of course I say that I'm not cold
In my flip-flops and camisole.
I really was quite content at that point.
It's unforgettable to everyone
How I would wear shorts
And tanks and sandals
In the dead of winter.
Only because I could.
There was no hidden motive.
No siree, there was nothing more;
I really just enjoyed being that way.
And then years later I ran out
It was the middle of the night
There was a huge wind chill
But I had known that before leaving
And my hair was sopping wet.
And I only could grab flip flops.
And I could not find a jacket to wear.
And I worried, because I was cold.
It happened once before
I was outside late at night
And goosebumps were everywhere
I looked and didn't want a coat.
So I think that I have into
This idea that everyone must get cold
Because all I had wanted to do
Was fit in, and that did something.
But I would not realize until just one
Year later from that date
That cold may sometimes be
More than a physical condition.
See, you can be cold because of
Something silly like the weather
Or you can be cold because of
A serious matter like relationships.
That's what I've learned in the
Wacky time I've spent on this planet.
I've learned that people are the ones
Who end up hurting you the most.
I had never really been wrong
And I still am not, in truth
I never am physically cold
But that isn't what it meant
So it took years to get there
To that weird conclusion of mine.
But now I know that a bad ending
Really can turn you stone cold.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
a few days ago
someone decided to go and repost an old poem about you
and it had been a long time since I had even thought of that day
but, I guess since I've been thinking about it,
I may as well write about it.
I had reserved the night for us, and sadly my sister tagged along.
It was still so wonderful though, it truly was.
You drank your first tea that night, i had been your first for many things.
And we wanted to figure out the mystery, to discover the clues.
But it was so hard to think of anything other than you.
Your hair was incredibly straight, flowing beautifully past your angelic shoulders.
Your eyes were covered with a black shimmering powder, and you looked so enticing.
You laughed so beautifully, everything you did was beautiful.
You wore a black skirt, a black camisole, and a see through shirt with lace. Yes, i still remember.
I don't really know how I remember, but I guess memories start to come back when you least expect them to.
Your smile that night was stunning, as per usual.
And you made me realize that night just how beautiful I truly was.
I remember making love to you that night, it was sweet and quick and we were exhausted. It was full of sloppy kisses and masked moans and pants. We laughed a bit, because we really weren't in the mood. But the cuddling we did afterwards, now that is something I'll truly never forget. I loved the way my hand always seemed to fit perfectly in the space between your hip and stomach, like we were missing puzzle pieces.
and I remember realizing that I was falling for you all over again that night. But with falling, comes crashing. And I truly made that painfully clear in the few weeks to follow.
"Your lips touched the cup gracefully, just like they when they kiss my lips. And my heart grew immensely when I realized I was falling in love with you all over again."
I miss those lips of yours sometimes. They always knew when I was in need of you. Do they still know? Can they still tell? Probably not.
44 weeks ago, we went on this date. And 41 weeks ago, I did something so awful that I still have a hard time conjuring up the words to describe it. I am truly sorry for what I did, please understand.
*"I applaud you, darling, for making everything I do and live for seem so important... And for loving me while I fall in love with you
over and over again."*
I guess it's easy to forget when you have someone new, right?
I never thought you'd be the first to break my heart, though.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC