“…all that longing over language used…” Passing
Thank you to the editors of Apollo’s Lyre for publishing this poem.
This is a wing print left on our window just like we might leave hand smudges. While a bird clearly hit the window, it survived and flew away.
While Zoe snagged a version of this for her photoblog http://bonegirlpix.wordpress.com/2010/04/18/wing-print-left-on-window/
it warrants words as well. Besides I like the color in this version as it reminds me of a winged Sufi heart.
I’m not sure what led to the color, though I placed a music stand on the other side of the glass to better capture the print and the greens/reds were likely reflected from my side of the glass.
How his crew cut head froze, poised above the place I could not see between my thighs,his short rodent hair arcing from my hairless mound, my mind providing the anesthesia of amnesia as if a spinal block flowed through a slender needle, numbing my body clean. And now that you’ve cut your long wheat field hair, he is the one I see near my belly, holding a switchblade against the rivulets of warmth that run from your tongue through my lips, radiating out hips thighs breasts arching back outstretched fingers. Remembering till now only my hatred of him, but as your fingers touch my inner thigh, images slice through muscle of his hand on my throat, palm in my stomach, head pressed into the opening I could not see, and I want to run from your arms which have held me warm against your chinchilla skin. As your pomegranate taste hits the back of my throat, his rancid stench catches, numbs my body clean.
Thank you to the editor of Rising to the Dawn for publishing this poem.