I. Mid-eye punctures bloom in their shadow-sketched circumference, widening the gyre to take in silhouetted shapes of an elusive beloved; for now, we fill each other’s black holes, cradled by the cirrus color swirled into a word called iris. Glasses off, I try to read closely the spilled-milk clumps of clouds that have tinseled the orb of your cornea; I see slap dash skywriting that either says I love you or I leave you. Or both? II. There are ghosts of prayer that loiter in the empty alleys of my pupils; the confessional is filled to the brim with parts of my heart that are too waterlogged to wring out without wrinkling the skins of those who would offer their holy hands. “Stay” is a word that stands stubbornly on my tongue’s tip, but I have mangled a muzzle over the foaming mouth of my raw animal selfishness - to leave room to love you in a way that leaves no bite marks of guilt’s fang-toothed kiss. III. The night before you had to surrender your here back to the there, my eyelashes picketed along the lid; with thick-Sharpied letters, they beat back the sheep’s hypnotic baaing, bating me into the soft woolen cocoon of slumber; something desperate holding its blue-cheeked breath inside me wanted to chart the circadian rhythm of your every breath and to be sharply conscious of the exact sentiments of every cell that was pressed against your every cell. Insomnia was my only option for making molasses out of minutes, harpooning every hurried hour, staring into every cluck of the clock instead of waking up to find it’s face wholly changed. IV. The lark’s call was unmistakable; there was no possibility for believing it was a lullaby sent by the nightingale; my stomach sank anchor-shod at the sun’s unlassoed rising. At the last breakfast, my tears melt the mountain of whipped cream, saline slowly mutating its sweetness to salty; and the waitress’s cheerful tone is punctuated by worried “ums” when she returns to ask how the food is; V. Your blurred visage s wims toward me to kiss me on the sponge-soaked cartilage of my nose; at the culmination of the pucker, I can feel your lips leaving my skin and the “STAY” between my teeth almost jailbreaks; but the key is swallowed, sitting safely inside, scratching up my guts.
You have to be a registered user to be
able to post comments to poetry.
If you already have an account, log in to post a comment.
Please be patient while we go looking for comments...