"cottoning" poems
I had
drowned in
those ocean currents
they call eyes.
Slipped away,
not a word outspoken.
Strangled with glacier hands,
fingertips of salt and
thunder cottoning my
eardrums.
You wanted to save me,
but I could not tell you
over the salt eroding
my throat,
that you were the one drowning me.
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
the long thin fingers of a girl of twenty-four
wrapped tight around the handrail of the L-train
bright-blue-eyed but for the temple bruise
*he loves me
and the mess I made*
everything tattooed (everything everything)
invisible on her cheeks and in the hollow of her shoulderblade
her lower lip and wristbone
but for the temple bruise
darker by two shades
a four-in-the-morning-night cottoning her tongue
not-the-first of many and her long thin fingers
white-knuckled
little joys to light on the handrail
not his warm-hot-ice-hard chest
or his loud voice (woulda been real handsome
if his eyes weren't so cold)
but for the temple bruise
*i
fell
in
love* so many times that day
the first sunday of its kind--not drenched
in imperceptible airdrops
the red-brown beard of the business suit
and the freckles undermining the punk-rock
vibe of the dark-eyed fox-girl
but the thin white knuckles
and the temple bruise
--none more than her
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
If you ever see me,
hugging someone,
let me remind you first:
the days, nights, hours,
minutes, and seconds
of silking waves
dashing on shores
of rocks, sands,
splashing to reach
the cottoning skies,
of our locking ears
capturing candy melodies
of Eden voices,
who sound as if
they were listening
to what I touch,
to what I see,
to what I absorb,
of my soft carrying
of such beautiful globe,
I, your Atlas,
You, my Gaea.
But then you choose
to desert me still,
to stay on his shores,
of overrated sands—
stones, rocks, pebbles,—
as if addicting as
their addicting brothers.
I tried, my dear,
to ride this boat,
to leave that shore,
full of echoing sands,
diamonds to your eyes,
cigarette ash to my hands.
Remember, my love,
if you ever catch me
locking my arms
with another wings
only as welcoming as a home,
for my heart overflows
with unused salt water,
and here is someone
who chooses to catch
every single droplet
of such salty sugars.
She understands,
I do hope so,
that it was not
a tie of everlasting string,
for my soft diamond rope
is still connected
to the harbor of your shores,
waiting for you
to pull it back,
the moment you will utter,
Escape, Escape, Escape.
--for A.
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 6:28 AM UTC
My pillow
gives
cold comfort
when
absent of your warmth
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
Somewhere, the trees are
heavy with a cottoning of snow,
and the morning sky is not
bleak blue but sleepy grey.
You are sitting at your window with your
book untouched on the unmade bed,
for the drifting flakes are far more
beautiful than any words I
could ever dream.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 3:45 PM UTC
The smell of you,
an impossibly intense run of ones and zeroes
converted to map your DNA
G A T T A C G A...
like everyone and no one
Forbidden skin folds, slickly hidden,
I carried with me
with some half lies that helped
keep everything off radar
‘til ready
Cottoning on to the lost in me
with fingers and caresses,
blessing a gleeful wink of grins
to an adulthood
that refused to begin,
and refuses still
Jul 21, 2020
Jul 21, 2020 at 2:03 PM UTC