Friday 18 September 2015

brown eyes .

you burned the inside of my eyelids —
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,

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
                       how many ways one could interpret



  1. Good 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.

  2. How 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.

  3. I 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