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Vintage glitter on five–ringed fingers,
You, a bronze plated king.
We trace the hollow of guitars,
Each hollow a gulp strewn in the throat.
The throat dressed in a cream jacket
Wraps a cord around a swan's neck
To levitate lovelorn teenage girls
& call the Styles water bender
For bending sweat to pool under shoes.
A king's curl: your hair, and when you smiled?
That smile is the glow behind a halo.
People call halos pretty, but without you,
It is just a clay necklace hanging over heads,
But I would say it: crowds were dancing
In a new pop culture, you are blurring
Into silver balls as our mouths stand still
Singing in dark rooms, CALL OUT MY NAME
Please, I want to say: we would call out names
But who is it that listens with two ears?
Because your words and mine don't even
Begin to sound the same. So, let me ask you
To let your words make sounds like stickers
That glow in the dark while I,
A mayhem on the peak of the city lights,
Wish that your tongue has slithered back
Into your mouth & curved in the sound of my name.
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YOU ARE READING
ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡
Poetry[ P O E T R Y ] ❝ maybe love makes us suffer so we love it more, as humans by nature seek pain because it is the greatest power that simply makes us feel. ❞ © 2019 cherrienoodles
