his words will rape me with love,
the way a good poem would swim like
water over sand.
he’ll play with caution to the wind,
his threads and string stretched
up at the sky;;
citing conveyor belt prayer
to unseen gods, the ones who
carve scores in wooden beads.
(and don’t care if you die)
showered wet, he’ll roll his head;;
& grin like a halloween lantern,
then whisper
hallucinations & run at my eyes,
his tongue sweet and grotesque, so
i’ll drown twice in every wave;;
(today, tomorrow...)
and i guess it makes a crowd
of times i’ll be falling for his breath.
Author notes
Username: DancingRed
Words I was given: play, swim, roll, grotesque, run.
A contest entry
- From One to One Hundred... Twenty Entries, Five Rounds... Round One - Random Numbers by Bosky.
600 points, ended June 4, 2007, 16 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Critical comments are most welcome.
Comments
-
Odd relationship. This was very interesting; I like how it is dark. My favorite part was in the last stanza:
"and i guess it makes a crowd
of times i’ll be falling for his breath."
Great work, thank you for entering my contest, and good luck!
Always,
Cassie
-
wow very powerful keep writing! -broken
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