(no subject)
i can breathe
she sighed
in the shadow of the sign.
a zephyr lifted
the bitter
sand
into a vicious merengue
as the shards of
stone rose
up to the curve
of the bell of her neck
chipping
the valley of
her lips
and sol
seeped
into her
her terra cotta skin
crackling
in the auburn heat
the fire of her fingertips
lulls him to sleep.
[a tatterdemalion vase
perfectly hourglass-curved
but fractured
at the waist.]
where had she once
twirled on the wheel?
a delicate dancer
so soft and elastic
twisting her skin
into a milky vessel
by the curve of her
creator's brittle wrist.
yet who molded who?
and
i never knew her
but i saw her braving
the fence
and that icy look
melted the sheets
into streams,
and your toes never
reached the bottom
like tentacles
she twisted
on the cliff
of his jaw
and silently she slips
deep into the sand -
the furious wind
tears at her sides
and chau she whispers
as the shards of
red clay
carve through the air
as your fingertips
had carved the
rise of her thighs.
EDIT:
I can breathe
she sighed
in the shadow of the sign.
a zephyr lifted
the bitter
sand
into a vicious
merengue
as the shards of
stone
rose
up to the curve
of the bell of her neck
chipping
the valley of
her lips
and
sol
seeped
into her
terra cotta
skin,
crackling
in the auburn heat
while the fire of her fingertips
lulls you to sleep.
she's a tatterdemalion vase
perfectly hourglass-shaped
but fractured
at the waist
once she was
sculpted meticulously
where she had once
twirled on the wheel
a delicate dancer
so soft and elastic
twisting her skin
into a milky
fluid
vessel
by the lustful
circumflex of
your
powerfully
brittle
wrist.
so ancient, Pygmalion.
still searching for love.
and
I never closely
knew her
or ever saw her dance
all those
years,
until I saw her
braving
the fence
as her weathered body
gracefully
tipped:
a ballet
made of clay
dripped
like a liquid slipper
from the
ledge
to a
poussette
where only
she knew the
steps.
and Pygmalion, who molded who?
and Pygmalion, where were you?
you should have fallen, too.
and that icy look
she gave
at last
melted the sheets
into streams,
and Pygmalion,
your toes
never
reached
the
bottom
like tentacles
she twisted
on the cliff
of your jaw
and silently she slips
deep into the sand -
the furious wind
tears at her sides
and chau
she whispers
as the shards of
red clay
carve through the
air
just
as your
fingertips
had carved the
rise of her
thighs.
she shatters
in
your gasps
and limply
cascades
into
a divided corpse.
while
pieces of her
terra cotta
hips
and lips
lie,
your breath
drips
and your
clumsy
fingertips
try to
twirl
her dry
bony body
back to
the swirling
glue
balancing on
the dewy wheel.
she crumbled like
sand
in your ancient
artisan
hand
skin
made of
amber
leather.
I can breathe
she said
as you pleaded
for air.
still searching for love all these years?
Pygmalion, who molded who?
you should have fallen, too.
she sighed
in the shadow of the sign.
a zephyr lifted
the bitter
sand
into a vicious merengue
as the shards of
stone rose
up to the curve
of the bell of her neck
chipping
the valley of
her lips
and sol
seeped
into her
her terra cotta skin
crackling
in the auburn heat
the fire of her fingertips
lulls him to sleep.
[a tatterdemalion vase
perfectly hourglass-curved
but fractured
at the waist.]
where had she once
twirled on the wheel?
a delicate dancer
so soft and elastic
twisting her skin
into a milky vessel
by the curve of her
creator's brittle wrist.
yet who molded who?
and
i never knew her
but i saw her braving
the fence
and that icy look
melted the sheets
into streams,
and your toes never
reached the bottom
like tentacles
she twisted
on the cliff
of his jaw
and silently she slips
deep into the sand -
the furious wind
tears at her sides
and chau she whispers
as the shards of
red clay
carve through the air
as your fingertips
had carved the
rise of her thighs.
EDIT:
I can breathe
she sighed
in the shadow of the sign.
a zephyr lifted
the bitter
sand
into a vicious
merengue
as the shards of
stone
rose
up to the curve
of the bell of her neck
chipping
the valley of
her lips
and
sol
seeped
into her
terra cotta
skin,
crackling
in the auburn heat
while the fire of her fingertips
lulls you to sleep.
she's a tatterdemalion vase
perfectly hourglass-shaped
but fractured
at the waist
once she was
sculpted meticulously
where she had once
twirled on the wheel
a delicate dancer
so soft and elastic
twisting her skin
into a milky
fluid
vessel
by the lustful
circumflex of
your
powerfully
brittle
wrist.
so ancient, Pygmalion.
still searching for love.
and
I never closely
knew her
or ever saw her dance
all those
years,
until I saw her
braving
the fence
as her weathered body
gracefully
tipped:
a ballet
made of clay
dripped
like a liquid slipper
from the
ledge
to a
poussette
where only
she knew the
steps.
and Pygmalion, who molded who?
and Pygmalion, where were you?
you should have fallen, too.
and that icy look
she gave
at last
melted the sheets
into streams,
and Pygmalion,
your toes
never
reached
the
bottom
like tentacles
she twisted
on the cliff
of your jaw
and silently she slips
deep into the sand -
the furious wind
tears at her sides
and chau
she whispers
as the shards of
red clay
carve through the
air
just
as your
fingertips
had carved the
rise of her
thighs.
she shatters
in
your gasps
and limply
cascades
into
a divided corpse.
while
pieces of her
terra cotta
hips
and lips
lie,
your breath
drips
and your
clumsy
fingertips
try to
twirl
her dry
bony body
back to
the swirling
glue
balancing on
the dewy wheel.
she crumbled like
sand
in your ancient
artisan
hand
skin
made of
amber
leather.
I can breathe
she said
as you pleaded
for air.
still searching for love all these years?
Pygmalion, who molded who?
you should have fallen, too.