quite suddenly
a case of (pointless) attestation
but too little consequence
Your name is pretentious,
you tell me one day,
the edges of each letter weave superfluously around my tongue,
writing itself out with disconcerting tranquility in my spiteful handwriting,
looking too sensible to pass off as a scribble on my lazy dog-eared lecture notes,
creeping between fading blue lines of exercise books from cover to cover with alarming discretion
(and finally into the spine of my diary).
And it,
you interject suddenly, a hushed summer later,
is excessively rhythmic and melodious in articulation,
reverberating in one's voice box obnoxiously
seconds, minutes after you're gone
(but taking days and years in mine).
But what antagonizes me the most,
you whisper (a lifetime) later,
is how it leaves me trailing familiar ghosts
of discordant alphabets on my bedcovers
as the 4 a.m. majorelle blue silence blankets me
and I drift off with these trivial letters on my tongue,
the composition of your name woven in the air around me like a sonnet
and you in my head.
*
A product of insomnia and (fruitless) Economics revision. The coffee fogs up my glasses, but when I whip them off to have a look excitedly (please understand the odd quirks of someone who doesn't wear spectacles regularly), they are clear again. I feel strangely disappointed and cheated over something so trivial.
This is the second poem I have ever written - the first was three years ago. asl;dkfj I'm so rusty.
but too little consequence
Your name is pretentious,
you tell me one day,
the edges of each letter weave superfluously around my tongue,
writing itself out with disconcerting tranquility in my spiteful handwriting,
looking too sensible to pass off as a scribble on my lazy dog-eared lecture notes,
creeping between fading blue lines of exercise books from cover to cover with alarming discretion
(and finally into the spine of my diary).
And it,
you interject suddenly, a hushed summer later,
is excessively rhythmic and melodious in articulation,
reverberating in one's voice box obnoxiously
seconds, minutes after you're gone
(but taking days and years in mine).
But what antagonizes me the most,
you whisper (a lifetime) later,
is how it leaves me trailing familiar ghosts
of discordant alphabets on my bedcovers
as the 4 a.m. majorelle blue silence blankets me
and I drift off with these trivial letters on my tongue,
the composition of your name woven in the air around me like a sonnet
and you in my head.
*
A product of insomnia and (fruitless) Economics revision. The coffee fogs up my glasses, but when I whip them off to have a look excitedly (please understand the odd quirks of someone who doesn't wear spectacles regularly), they are clear again. I feel strangely disappointed and cheated over something so trivial.
This is the second poem I have ever written - the first was three years ago. asl;dkfj I'm so rusty.