we bent into the shovels
the mud and jerked the
heel of the truck with our
sparrow-lined footwear.
fantasies talk lines and
bolt us to the closet hangers.
i sucked the open spouts
of japanese tea pots for you.
you sang to me and let me
paint dragons on your back.
we've made love in stranger
ways than this when we were
teenagers; full and ripe with
triumph and soft growing bodies.
tonight we watched the air
between us filter like a bad
cigarette across glossed lips
and buried our mixtures
beneath the sand in the desert.
4 comments:
sparrow lined footwear. love it. ps heaps of love for the bday prezzy. you're a gem.
poem has me stuck in a reverie, in the air above my head on a dark rural road - strange. the painting is louder than the singing. texturally, i feel the sand is a bit course and grainy for the preceeding touch. reading it over and over. and das a great comment, &%.
This is revealing.
alls i can do is smile at you, riko, because you don't know. but isn't it great to pretend?
denielle, thank you thank you.
hardy, the best compliment is to know you've read it more than once, more than twice? that it's getting under your skin and sticking. thank you so much.
isn't there something to be said about what a person "pretends" to be?
of course there is riko.
in some cases, there is everything to be said by what one pretends to be.
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