|I'll be Reborn by Morning
Author: Faithless Juliet PM
Five different poems: I've stretched sunlight like a thorny thread through my skin.Rated: Fiction M - English - Poetry - Words: 416 - Reviews: 17 - Favs: 17 - Published: 03-06-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2329809
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I've stretched sunlight,
like a thorny thread
through my skin
bleeding across my knees,
blurring alongside too many men, and
bleached by the sky's screaming poetry -
I crave the moon
like, you crave your tobacco.
I write everyday.
It comes naturally,
Locally, we sit topsy-turvy in coffee shops,
Seattle-style. Home. It drips.
Like words into a cup, already bubbling with river water.
I watch you pull it to your lips and suck.
And in a hotel room
I look Washington over
with chipped finger nail polish
through the curtains
you took a shower in the next room.
The walls, mold
folding drips into your clay cup of river water.
tastes like earthen sun,
where the sky meets the shadows
I fold the water into square love letters,
weave it into memory,
And I watched as a
shutter flashed across a
glass lens staring my face down,
or how I
for over a year.
And I was ashamed,
and full of questions
and quick remarks,
to impress you -
holding the sweltering
cup of river water to your salty teeth,
gulping my body through yourself like a straw,
holding my breath
under the water
of your hands
clutching my shoulders
elucidating my memory
to this picture, or that picture.
And then I am sleeping
nude, and my hair is longer
covering me. And you are a
A gap - remembering the day that under sunlight
I stopped breathing. Remembering how
angelic the pain felt throughout the curves of my poetry.
Remembering the river
and then stolen...
and then gone.
I don't know if December makes sense? -
if it's lovely enough to scar myself with,
but, unscathed, I tattoo it on my skin to remember
used to know myself
it came naturally.
I loved you in those dark hours of suckling.
Those dark hours
filled with noise.
Those dark hours without makeup on my face.
Those dark hours of
tucking black piano keys into the melted white.
a buzzing crescendo, climaxing.
It wasn't all about that, but I loved you fully in those dark hours.
I'm flirting with the boy at the bookstore.
I'll be reborn by morning.