On the scales of desire, your absence weighs more than someone else’s presence, so I say no thanks to the woman who throws her girdle at my feet, as I drop a postcard in the mailbox and watch it throb like a blue heart in the dark. Your eyes are so green - one of your parents must be part traffic light. We’re both self-centered, but the world revolves around us at the same speed. Last night I tossed and turned inside a thundercloud. This morning my sheets were covered in pollen.
I remember the long division of Saturday’s pomegranate, a thousand nebulae in your hair, as soldiers marched by, dragging big army bags filled with water balloons, and we passed a lit match, back and forth, between our lips, under an oak tree I had absolutely nothing to do with.
"Black is the colour of my true love's hair Her lips are like some roses fair She has the sweetest smile the gentlest hands And I love the ground whereon she stands
I love my love, and well she knows I love the ground whereon she goes I wish the day soon would come When she and I will be as one" Black is the Colour (of my True Love's Hair)
"Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." ~ Howard Thurman
There was something in her sadness that was strangely poetic. When she looked at the pictures of her daughter when the subject was thousands of miles away, he couldn't help but think of pianos playing or violin solos or the strength it took to do what she did. Pulling a trigger on command. Leaving her family to do detestable things just to support them. The things that tragic heroes were made of
( ... )
Comments 4
On the scales of desire, your absence weighs more
than someone else’s presence, so I say no thanks
to the woman who throws her girdle at my feet,
as I drop a postcard in the mailbox and watch it
throb like a blue heart in the dark. Your eyes
are so green - one of your parents must be
part traffic light. We’re both self-centered,
but the world revolves around us at the same speed.
Last night I tossed and turned inside a thundercloud.
This morning my sheets were covered in pollen.
I remember the long division of Saturday’s
pomegranate, a thousand nebulae in your hair,
as soldiers marched by, dragging big army bags
filled with water balloons, and we passed a lit match,
back and forth, between our lips, under an oak tree
I had absolutely nothing to do with.
-Jeffrey McDaniel
Reply
Her lips are like some roses fair
She has the sweetest smile the gentlest hands
And I love the ground whereon she stands
I love my love, and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes
I wish the day soon would come
When she and I will be as one"
Black is the Colour (of my True Love's Hair)
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment