(no subject)
The ocean in
my cereal bowl.
These wooden kisses,
rough with desire
and splinters
of eagerness
that color
your mask of
disinterest.
Buried in the
feeling that Christmas
brings you.
Like honey and fever
all in one, the bees'
stings all along
your spine.
Pearls.
Pearls they are.
No matter how hard
I try, I know that there
just has to be something
here hidden among
the sweet grass
I laid in,
the stars coming
ever closer.
I would bet
each and every
bone in my body
that they hummed
and swayed on the silver
strings that bound
them to the heavens.
They used to sing
me to sleep,
each one like a fat
diamond, twinkling
serenely.
When I was five,
now I am twenty one,
the awe never changed
in my mind.
So many nights,
dew between my toes.
I went there so often I
can almost see the
shape my body made
on the grass, detailed
like a handprint
on wet sand, each
finger spreadeagled
and wide apart.
Silk on my skin,
I suppose that I'm grown.
Bare feet along the
cement, I walk slow
like evolution and
fawns and does,
there eyes like trust
and their noses velvet.
And, for shame,
their hides like innocence.
Lost?
A meadow in the suburbs.
Everything.
All of it. So so so quiet.
Quiet with midnight,
like holding your breath
untill your heart in
its cage feels like
every cell has been
filled to bursting
with gold robin
juice that runs down
my fingers
when I take bites
from this apple of life,
just out of reach it is.
Tiptoes, tiptoes,
a garland of my sweetest
nightmares and the softest
violets crown me.
A waist-laced ballgown
on a summer night.
Just me and Peter Pan,
fly away to some other day.
The moon fills my marrow
with strength and I never
want to live indoors for
never more.
In your haste to bestow
upon me, you broke me.
A locket closed to
never open, lockets holding
locks. Long shorn from
china-doll babies long
dead, pasts drenched
skin-deep with bitter,
begrudged tears shed
in mass by bereaved mothers.
Astride the back of the
gentlest dappled mare.
Step into the pages of
vellum, scripture.
The clouds move to
beshawl you.
Hushed sounds, endless
days we spin for ourselves.
Fallen leaves like
fallen lives, ships
gone down like
bones jewels masts
broken, sails at full length,
sorry to go.
Fairytales marble what
I see out of these two
marbles of eyes.
Ashes to ashes,
deads to dead,
the footsteps will remain
even when the sound
fades.
my cereal bowl.
These wooden kisses,
rough with desire
and splinters
of eagerness
that color
your mask of
disinterest.
Buried in the
feeling that Christmas
brings you.
Like honey and fever
all in one, the bees'
stings all along
your spine.
Pearls.
Pearls they are.
No matter how hard
I try, I know that there
just has to be something
here hidden among
the sweet grass
I laid in,
the stars coming
ever closer.
I would bet
each and every
bone in my body
that they hummed
and swayed on the silver
strings that bound
them to the heavens.
They used to sing
me to sleep,
each one like a fat
diamond, twinkling
serenely.
When I was five,
now I am twenty one,
the awe never changed
in my mind.
So many nights,
dew between my toes.
I went there so often I
can almost see the
shape my body made
on the grass, detailed
like a handprint
on wet sand, each
finger spreadeagled
and wide apart.
Silk on my skin,
I suppose that I'm grown.
Bare feet along the
cement, I walk slow
like evolution and
fawns and does,
there eyes like trust
and their noses velvet.
And, for shame,
their hides like innocence.
Lost?
A meadow in the suburbs.
Everything.
All of it. So so so quiet.
Quiet with midnight,
like holding your breath
untill your heart in
its cage feels like
every cell has been
filled to bursting
with gold robin
juice that runs down
my fingers
when I take bites
from this apple of life,
just out of reach it is.
Tiptoes, tiptoes,
a garland of my sweetest
nightmares and the softest
violets crown me.
A waist-laced ballgown
on a summer night.
Just me and Peter Pan,
fly away to some other day.
The moon fills my marrow
with strength and I never
want to live indoors for
never more.
In your haste to bestow
upon me, you broke me.
A locket closed to
never open, lockets holding
locks. Long shorn from
china-doll babies long
dead, pasts drenched
skin-deep with bitter,
begrudged tears shed
in mass by bereaved mothers.
Astride the back of the
gentlest dappled mare.
Step into the pages of
vellum, scripture.
The clouds move to
beshawl you.
Hushed sounds, endless
days we spin for ourselves.
Fallen leaves like
fallen lives, ships
gone down like
bones jewels masts
broken, sails at full length,
sorry to go.
Fairytales marble what
I see out of these two
marbles of eyes.
Ashes to ashes,
deads to dead,
the footsteps will remain
even when the sound
fades.