Dropped the rings, the color
soft pink- you're stealing
my words, my love,
and my skin,
You rip it from my muscles,
fingers gripping
till I crack and bleed,
my flesh the color of cruelty.
"...But to me the darkness was red-gold and crocus-coloured, With your brightness, And the words you whispered to me, Sprang up and flamed—orange torches against the rain. Torches against the wall of cool, silver rain!" ---Summer Rain, Amy Lowell
Dropped the rings, the color
soft pink- you're stealing
my words, my love,
and my skin,
You rip it from my muscles,
fingers gripping
till I crack and bleed,
my flesh the color of cruelty.
maybe everyone I thought was my soulmate
was just a mirror image of myself
waving back at me
and the way we speak is just
a reference point, radios bouncing
signals off each other
You can read me in an instant
your eyes like those of a soothsayer
my soul laid out and my heart
bleeding all over my bare feet
I'll play your game, wait on your name,
and resist you all the same
Welcome back to earth,
my little clairvoyant, till when
can I turn away your prying intents
and your careful, softest
touches?
Your boyish question stirs
in my mind like the Atlantic
on a December night, you
won't wait and I won't stay,
on Christmas morning I see
our green-eyed prodigy,
I wake up wrapped in
flannel sheets,
we are purest bliss
walk the farmlands,
fingers on the fences,
you make the money and
I'll raise the children,
four or five or ten.
Please, laugh yourself away
With your speckled skin and brilliant
Baby blues, you need something new
There's nothing fresh here, we are
An old story retold a thousand times
And the blood in our veins won't change
You'll find out that I'm a torrential rain
On your graduation day, a downpour in
The bright light of May
You'll realize I'm a perfect accident
Fleeting and final, I run from my pain
Like death is on my shoulders
You'll grow to know the truth of me
When I'm crying in the dark with your
Daggers in my chest, bleeding
And some other hand could seep in
Entwining, a rose climbing within
Thorns pressed to my skin.
Your eyes are empty and tired
Against the gray skies,
The misting rain is my
Hurt and broken, ruined passions
I laid down in the overflowing
Gutter of your love, your eyes were
Wet grass and summer oak,
I'll admit you might have been right
But only if you apologize
For pouring me out and
Crushing my soul with your
Ivory fingers and callous tongue
So why show up here?
Your white nose bridge is
A ghost's profile view,
Haunting me with cold.