We used to see eye to eye, you and I
My head buried in the nape of your neck
With your arms anchoring my soul into the ground
So that I didn’t get carried away and float into the ether
Like I usually did on those cold uneventful;
Mornings, when mother used to sleep all day with her
Hands cradling the bible and her bottle of Jack
Pressed into the soft eiderdown of her stomach
Which when cracked open like a bottle of pills
Would eventually drop down that little;
Patchwork of baby, a palette of ashen hues and
Big blue eyes and the same golden locks of the man
Down the road she promised she’d never adorned
With her body, but that had allowed him the satisfaction
Of plucking her cherry from the tree of life;
Which had ceased to exist in a heartbeat and was now
Rotting in an unmarked hole in the ground with only a
Taste of air on its lips, nine months to its name
And a night of wonder less passion
Hanging over its head in shame.
YOU ARE READING
Black Coffee
Poetry"Normality is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly"- Anon. In life we tenderly bloom, slowly shrivel and then die like flowers. This small collection of poetry reveals human emotion from a number of different perspectives...
