"peripheries" poems - Hello Poetry

I feel his eyes on me Whenever I cross the room. It is mostly when there are others Present and we must share ourselves, Expended over people And places. The spaces Before we fall into our wine stained Non-marital bed. The grape blood reminds me Of my own. On my own, fledgling ******* and acne, Elaborately false ******* Where I would never have my fill. A child-man I forgot. Or remember only as a token, Cardboard textured orange peel In a breast pocket never worn. I forget Most everyone Now that he is In my life. He obliterates All else like light pollution. Not of fluorescent neon or slogans But an exploding star That dims all else In my peripheries. I am Diminished also in his love, Both wholesomely and then in a sense Where I lose my ‘I’. It is in his shadow Where I live. Small comet Hidden in the black of velvet, Licked by the spit of his flames That scald me And bathe me In equal measure. I am more than this I know. Or guess. His tailor hands Though, are efficient and caring. They Do not create me, but he threads himself Into my sides And drops a stitch Only to adulate the rhythm When he enters me. When he enters me I become burgeoned and full and blood fills The rusted roadways That shine blue Through my pasty prism. He finishes. A gloom fills me. Not A gloom, more of a nothing and he is An obliterated star once more And I his aftermath. He has killed me with a kindness, A ghost only when witnessed, kissed. I have long since forgotten whether I have Been taken prisoner Or gave myself up.

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Aug 7, 2013

Aug 7, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC

Edward-Coles

A Witness

I feel his eyes on me Whenever I cross the room. It is mostly when there are others Present and we must share ourselves, Expended over people And places. The spaces Before we fall into our wine stained Non-marital bed. The grape blood reminds me Of my own. On my own, fledgling ******* and acne, Elaborately false ******* Where I would never have my fill. A child-man I forgot. Or remember only as a token, Cardboard textured orange peel In a breast pocket never worn. I forget Most everyone Now that he is In my life. He obliterates All else like light pollution. Not of fluorescent neon or slogans But an exploding star That dims all else In my peripheries. I am Diminished also in his love, Both wholesomely and then in a sense Where I lose my ‘I’. It is in his shadow Where I live. Small comet Hidden in the black of velvet, Licked by the spit of his flames That scald me And bathe me In equal measure. I am more than this I know. Or guess. His tailor hands Though, are efficient and caring. They Do not create me, but he threads himself Into my sides And drops a stitch Only to adulate the rhythm When he enters me. When he enters me I become burgeoned and full and blood fills The rusted roadways That shine blue Through my pasty prism. He finishes. A gloom fills me. Not A gloom, more of a nothing and he is An obliterated star once more And I his aftermath. He has killed me with a kindness, A ghost only when witnessed, kissed. I have long since forgotten whether I have Been taken prisoner Or gave myself up.