Youth stole
the abdomen
burnt with secrets
and holes
through trash
bags, buried
with thousands
of tadpoles
and attempts
at our creations-
just tossed
ocean over ocean
away. Laughing
floating sperm
on water, took
what was left
from round rooms
where our dreams
hid;
Dancing
on abdomens
sore from the end
of life inside,
you stroked
my hope, hoping
to kiss the holes
making magic
grow in my earth
(once more.)
Author notes
open to critical comments- will probably edit more..
For pre-contest challenge (Project Poetry)- My number is 66, and the poem is penned from the picture found at this link; http://i11.photobucket.com/albums/a187/malkolis/oldsex.jpg
Comments
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I wasn't sure I was going to like this after reading the first stanza.
but I did.
Your progression of the ideas in this "womb" was really nice. You can take it on many levels, of course, & since I've been personally implanted with many ideas from a certain man.
I guess I could just connect with this poem & that's what sticks out in my mind.
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I hope a man will be holding my face like that when I'm old. lol. Sigh.
This is a much deeper side of that; well done. Can't think of anything to critique, though 'holes' seems a little too harsh and empty to me, but maybe that's your intention? Regardless, wonderful work, hon.
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