Her crimson and violet streaks
of long flowing locks melt
into the striped cotton sweater hugging
her curvaceous entity.
Her firm chest rises foremostly,
and her round backside flaunts
the washed-out denim jeans pressed
warmly against her milky flesh.
She raises a glass of Guinness
in honor of St. Patrick
as I admire how her snug attire accentuates
her already-enthralling curves…
Oh! And she says something, but
I didn’t hear.
Tag: Poetry
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Sarah’s Sweater
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My Reflection
hands
      as smooth as a baby’s
      without any prints on the world
eyes
      as shut as a baby’s
      unable to renounce the shade
cheeks
      as fat as a baby’s
      drunk off his mother’s teat
lips
      as lame as a baby’s
      unable to pronounce his desires
feet
      as weak as a baby’s
      without any prints on the world
-
The Most Annoying Person
She rambles
about her brunch with her boyfriend,
where an audience of eyes rolled
to their chalkboard-scratching howls.
I nod nonchalantly
with ears content
with the hum of the A/C
and eyes hungrily searching
for a diversion to break
her rubber band bind on me,
but everybody walks through
as though we’re ghosts.
When the building’s silent,
save for her predictable and perpetual bile,
I feign interest in the browning plants,
because to look at her spotty face, as rank
as the dissonance her mouth excretes,
will compel me to debate
whether the debt of murder
is a better bargain than this. -
Five Years Later…
My memory of her has survived
the annual tempests in which I purge
myself to squelch her image
from my mind, each feature
she possessed (without equal) still intact
(particularly her green eyes).
Although I now offer my heart to others,
my soul belongs unequivocally to her,
whether she’s noticed or not,
and should she appear at my door,
I’d throw everybody else I love into the abyss.
and present what I’ve reaped from them as an offering to her. -
Bleed
I poke in dabs but never drip a drop
of worthy words. They’re either flat or pitched
so high they sound like teenage rage. They flop
in seas of wavy thoughts and points amiss
in imagery as though begot atop
a flight with opium’s guidance affixed
inside my brain and never hit the spot
I hope to bleed. I sorely need a kiss
from muses with subtle features not lost
in gaudy game to escape words that give
away the meaning leaving me the shame
of airy thoughts unfocused and untamed.
-
Transformation
Before me stands a kid about five feet
with innards burning red and violent green
hidden beneath a face of baby pink.
Released from his shell, given second birth,
he devoured loved ones like they’re dessert
and with hasty fists destroyed the world.
He leaps from the cracks into Heaven. Pain
he begot bleeds into me and inflames
my heart. During my nap he stole and ate
the world. Through jaded eyes I see his fate
belongs to me. I claw for strength
to kill the devil I grudgingly face.The world trembles fearfully underneath
me as the tide leaps up to reach the peak.
My eyes shine with the tint of nature’s green
and golden locks weave through my seams.
The sun’s eclipsed as Light engulfs me
and within me the sky and the sea meet.Now ready to face the devil I breathe
solid spirit fueled by losses he brings.
Ahead some paces on ground with firm feet
beating his chest, he’s waiting for me.