you in
your Fair Isle sweater, are,
Lips
pursing; chin, receding slightly.
A pen
like a cigarette, or baton
from your
arm caresses up
the
daffodil wall
absently.
When we
were in bed
my labia
drew you like a magnet,
or your
fingers drew me.
Now a
child noisily drains a juice box
and steam
spits from the espresso machine.
The tarry
Sangiovese sky
deepens
and you
drop
like a
page from my surrealistic pillow book,
the hole
of your arms,
a mine of
gold lies,
where I
fall
red ochre
of rose dust
in the
middle of Alice,
“D’ya
think I’m pretty?”
sparkles
from her spigot
and a
cardinal lilts
in a
budding lilac,
a coterie
of kisses
as I wait
in my st. eve’s,
my
Neapolitan panties,
catkins
in gin
enthusiastically.
from the Fair Isle sweater to the Sangiovese sky and onward to you waiting in my st. eve’s,
ReplyDeletemy Neapolitan panties,/catkins in gin /enthusiastically you have me in a kind of tension and wonderment. i am eager, too.
so good to read from you again. where the heck have you been?
xo
erin
Thanks, erin. I was having fun with this one, not too serious, just enjoying the play of language.
DeleteI've been feeling unsettled as of late. I've been online for five years and reading and writing intensively during most of that time. I jumped online those years ago because I was dissatisfied with my life and wanted change. I'm feeling that I'm at that point again and wondering which direction I'll go. Thanks for reading and commenting. I haven't been a very good blog citizen lately.
This is a sort of candy pinafore on a spring breeze, airy and daring, staring down the bitter with a sweet eye. (Or is it the other way around?) The sugary tone keeps the teeth from grinding, I think. Spring's a good season for pulling out a fresh poetic. Good to see you checking back in, Miz Jane.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Brendan.
DeleteDoes my bitterness show through these lines? I guess there is a bit of melancholia strung through this, some sense of lack or loss or just emptiness.
Still don't know my direction, yet. Pulling out words and writing now seems to be a huge effort, like swimming fully-clothed.