flashes of
the morning sun waking up
to stripe your back through the blinds,
water falling across mid-summer skin,
lashes folding up so close i can feel the breeze,
dimples,
dimples,
dimples.
and your eyes are not the colour of
milked down chocolate
or silt and soil
like you claim —
they're cherry wood and honey
warm & light & deep & rich —
and they don't look away
even when i can hardly breathe
under their heaviness.
and those eyes read me like a book
steady and linear
one page to the next until you were done
and i had no more stories left to share.
but i read you like a poem
doubling back and again
stuck and gasping
at one verse, one word, one jawline
wondering,
always,
how many ways one could interpret
you.
S.
{Photo: Angela Kim Flickr}
this flows so nicely
ReplyDeleteGood GOSH. you have so much talent for writing and I mean that so sincerely I could burst. Reading like a book vs. a poem. that's brilliant. it describes the dynamic of so many relationships. to consider someone a poem. what a wildly romantic thought. cherry wood and honey? I can hardly handle this. So beautiful.
ReplyDeleteHow this poem is shaped held against its content is breathtaking. I'm a sucker for good formatting that lends itself to the story inside of a poem. This is beyond perfect. You are so talented, girl. I adore whenever you post.
ReplyDeleteI often wonder how many ways I could interpret him... oh and the dimples... wow... You are such a gifted writer who always makes me think S... xox
ReplyDelete