i sought out the colour
of her strapped shoulders —
six of them : each
shy as mine, scathed and
scattered across the bed,
below the head of her
which was dismal and blue.
my finger felt its tightness
and dwelled inside the groove
of her throats: i saw each bone
stark as mine — as you spread out
our four spines across the linen;
the vertebrae were splayed fresh as sleep
where i could not keep vigil
over their breathing breasts —
nor the nostalgia of our navels staring
skyward. but the ceiling stayed
constellated by light that flickered
from our glistening teeth ;where
we gazed with our eight eyes bleating
and sighed:
as my plaits matted upon the mattress,
i saw their tangled arbours thread
amongst the covers: i saw one strap
red as a rose, another blue i posed,
strained as the hardness of your stone lap.
(13/02/2018)
YOU ARE READING
Have you seen the Lost Boys?
Poetryharking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
