[original poetry] - "Thrombosis"
I wrote this poem in late 2005, during a lunch break at work. The world felt windless then - I was in Sales, working our kiosk and bored beyond belief; I was newly married and struggling to cope with a bevy of losses. I was desperate for a breeze, would have given my soul for a little ruffle of wind - a whisper, a kiss. *wink* In any case, the air is languid again, for alltogether different reasons, and after I excavated this little snippet from my old files (thanks to a happy accident), it only seemed fitting to share it with ya'll now - a million miles from the girl I was, yet somehow still in the same place.
(And if it is terrible, try to rmemeber that I was, you know, a wee one. Of a sort. Ehem.) Maybe I should, you know, finish and revise this.......
From a new office, with different responsiblities, I give you:
Thrombosis
A sandy sort of sky,
that afternoon of almost-rain; the clouds cumulus and
beige with dust.
Taupe bodied, silver lined, they
whisker at their rims,
float like feathers across the sun.
The breezeway dims.
The sky shifts to nimbus, rainwater collecting in
pockets, like bruises
lavender-blued.
Water gurgles to the ground, a drizzle
in the drainpipes.
They enter the hotel with its soggy smell.
Noontime flotsam gargling in the storm sewer.
Somewhere, a tin-sounding splatter,
droplets plunk tunelessly, and
the asphalt steams
Walls the color of bone and his
shoulders blush with sunlight beneath her
tongue's tepid trail.
Her fingers glance the
nape of his neck. Her eyes lower,
wet-lashed.
“I can’t sleep with you.”
“We won’t.”
“You will.”
To be continued…….
(And if it is terrible, try to rmemeber that I was, you know, a wee one. Of a sort. Ehem.) Maybe I should, you know, finish and revise this.......
From a new office, with different responsiblities, I give you:
Thrombosis
A sandy sort of sky,
that afternoon of almost-rain; the clouds cumulus and
beige with dust.
Taupe bodied, silver lined, they
whisker at their rims,
float like feathers across the sun.
The breezeway dims.
The sky shifts to nimbus, rainwater collecting in
pockets, like bruises
lavender-blued.
Water gurgles to the ground, a drizzle
in the drainpipes.
They enter the hotel with its soggy smell.
Noontime flotsam gargling in the storm sewer.
Somewhere, a tin-sounding splatter,
droplets plunk tunelessly, and
the asphalt steams
Walls the color of bone and his
shoulders blush with sunlight beneath her
tongue's tepid trail.
Her fingers glance the
nape of his neck. Her eyes lower,
wet-lashed.
“I can’t sleep with you.”
“We won’t.”
“You will.”
To be continued…….