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Utopia

Your lips on mine...
I feel your hair play gently across my hand, softer than the mildest summer breeze
I release my embrace and stare deep into those gorgeous, bottomless emerald wells
I see them shimmering and shining, nebulae that rest in your head, spinning like thread a thousand new constellations that herald my name
Your loss would see all flesh and muscle shorn from my skeletal frame
Yet for those fleeting moments, picoseconds to my lust and decades to my love, I would embrace the loss of function
My bones would sing the brilliant hue of those eyes
My phantom-heart would pump your breath through pseudo-hallucinated veins
If only, Bright Eyes...if only...

Author notes

Written predominantly in my head in a tent atop Balsam Mountain, NC.

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Comments


  • sora.
    August 8

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    i will admit that green eyes are definately the best colour, and i have always been mad at my sister for stealing the green-eye gene and leaving me to damned grey instead.

    this is so ...fervent, yet still gentle. the imagery is gorgeous.
    [:


  • Dudas Drakaan
    August 7

    Edit | Reply
    Hmm, I never realized her eyes were green. HAHA!

    Yes, it's actually rather interesting to have talked to you for awhile now and to know who you are talking about.

    Still, I feel that this poem hardly does the deep feelings you hold justice, my friend. Yes, it is a beautiful poem that flows and runs and makes me feel like I'm being lulled along by waves as I read it, but I think that a poem about your emotions would take a poem as epic as the Illiad.

    This was written in your head, and it is still excellent...

    "I feel your hair play gently across my hand, softer than the mildest summer breeze" is my personal favorite line in this poem. In it, I must confess, I think of myself laying next to Meaghan in this forest. Yes, yes, we are broken, but that just seems to make it match all the more.

    • ghostofligeia
      August 7
      Edit | Reply
      It doesn't really do them justice, but what could? I'm a fairly eloquent person when putting my mind to it, but there are some things that language seems inadequate to express except in the hands of the absolute most gifted whose genius is unfathomable, doing with words what Mozart did with notes. I am no such man, and can only try to write things that have some power, if not the power that would be the most fitting expression.