First light —
Our limbs braid and coil,
feverish heat with Herculean strength is what you will feel,
it will swallow and bury you whole,
(the earth's core is a molten pulse, or so long-lived couples have said)
where your ear is above my breast, I promise
you will breathe the gush of my veins,
a symphony with my beat a metronome;
(Who needs a radio? That is your morning melody)
Then will come movement!
Stretches like lazy, yawning cats,
I bite your chin, kiss your lashes, tongue your dimples and graze your freckles.
Croaks and rasps of voices, some lyrics to your song,
you will look me in the eyes and your palms
SWEAT YOUR STOMACH OVERTURNS AND WRENCHES ITSELF A GAPING HOLE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH YOU'RE AFRAID YOU MIGHT PUKE RIGHT THERE AND THEN YOU WANT TO RUN YOU WANT TO RUN SO FUCKING FAR AWAY BUT
you can't baby, did you forget?
Icarus ran(flew) too,
and your wings don't hold a candle to his,
nor do they to my flame
(I laugh at the thought of you melting soft too fuckin' quick for your own good).
Last light —
(HAVE I TAUGHT YOU FEAR?)
***
i pray i'm not the only one who always feels grossly pretentious when writing poems(oh my god no kidding). who knew poetry could be so fun and so fuckin' cathartic? this is my first time and for me, myself and i only. i'm trying a new form of expressionism and my goal is to become more eloquent with and in control of my thoughts — but i hope you like this anyway.
