she clung to swings
with flimsy fingertips
& prayed someone was god;
the taste of pollen made her croak,
when she nearly forgot that breathing
was all about glorifying false hope.
She figured out, each inch of her
was mapped into an intimate delicacy,
where she was the waxworks upon feasting eyes
& her smile was the paradox of
summertime.
Author notes
9/150
19. aestival
wasn't the summer beautiful in those privledged playground days?
In a list
A contest entry
- 50 prompts. by winterbound..
499 points, ended May 25, 29 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
.
Comments
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prayed someone was god
- LOVE THAT.
the taste of pollen made her croak
-The description there is so god damn amazing.
I really, really, really hope you win as i LOVE everything about this poem. Especially the definative ending word.
-
I LOVE THAT WORD!
I like this write too and I like your use of the words paradox and waxworks together.
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