He breathes eucalyptus.
I breath chamomile.
They combine like a swamp
interbreeding plants
like vines twining
as lovers poised openly.
We feel our articles jumping.
The cleavage drooping out like
clouds along a sunset.
Shy pretense melts
like wax,
like skin peeling
off the face of a bell
as it turns from red
to
green.
Drizzle words into my ears,
that I think I hear
with ribbons of clear, steering
to hug the whole of me.
Sprawled over human stained sheets,
we bleed our conviction into bed coils.
When we lifted the blankets,
the scent rose like uncorking
a bottle of twenty year old wine.
He acts like the moon,
showing an eye like a
yellow dagger.
Then he shines flouride white
at full capacity,
fortifying even
cratered flaws
with smiling arches.
What I see is a smile
that reaches deeper then
the surface,
like the tip of a sand dollar
rough but certain
trading the smooth shore
for a hardened canvas.
Who can tell how deep we go,
until they pull us out.
I was one of those children.
Just a weed among the weeds
looking for a flower to thrive on.
Murdering the beautiful
with my groping for steadiness.
Born from dying hearts.
You ask why
sex is a flat note
while I fall on the staff
exhausted with singing my soul
to a deaf man.
They said he was a typical man,
that he was just another scribble
on the paper that God drew
and couldn't erase right away.
If there is a God
He would be the only one
with something meaningful to say
at my funeral.
They'd say things
that are more for their image
than my severance.
But God would stand
with a chunk missing from His hip
and say that I was that hole in Him.
We went in rounds
like a confession class
for recovering alcoholics
only we had just begun.
Spilling religious lore into our laps,
threatening our inherited beliefs
shaking a fist in the faces
of those who spite our habits.
While we pushed God further away
unintentionally,
like our dinner when we were finished.
It was not as if we did not want anymore
there was just no room for it in our lives.
there was no release,
just endless racing
and craving ravenously for more
until the crystals stopped falling
and realization fell in chunks of hail
instead.
A contest entry
- Your Best Lines by Danna Hobart.
390 points, ended October 19, 2008, 24 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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"We went in rounds
like a confession class
for recovering alcoholics
only we had just begun."
I had forgotten just how very intelligent your work is Chelsea, I'm glad I checked this out. Fine writing hun.
MJ.
-
A very impressive write, Alex, with imagery that had me smiling from ear to ear. My single criticism being that I felt you over used simile ... like in too much ... you follow? Still the power of your writing is all over this piece. I can see you gaining in accomplishment.
-
"and realization fell in chunks of hail
instead." - it does do that....I also love the cleavage part...
I would say that this is an excellent line...love this poem, congrats
-
These are pretty much the first lines on this entire site I've had any respect for throughout this entire year. Some of these: average; several: sexy brilliance. I breathe your name a dying joint of purest Jagger. And it's gone.
-
The cleavage drooping out like
clouds along a sunset.
This line is fabulous!
Who can tell how deep we go,
until they pull us out.
This metaphor is simply brilliant.
You ask why
sex is a flat note
while I fall on the staff
exhausted with singing my soul
to a deaf man.
And I think this is quite profound.
he was just another scribble
on the paper that God drew
and couldn't erase right away.
A very apt metaphor here.
Thank you for entering my contest.
-
Chelsea . . . I don't think any comment I make will do justice to this, this, this incredible piece of writing . . . I'm sorry, but I am stunned into silence . . . BRILLIANT, just brilliant . . .
Marc
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