| this is a torch song |
[Feb. 22nd, 2006|10:58 pm] |
I like these old books of poetry and their hastily creased palms. I like that page 200 avails itself, without hesitation. and those two lines, how they peppered our mouths, how we closed our eyes and spoke aloud. a prayer, a revelation.
swollen with words you never said.
swollen with hoarded love.
we were teenagers, it was the endless summer. I put on my brother's hendrix and shuffled through my mother's poetry collection. we chalked sidewalks and raided pools, hid broken pottery under your mother's cabinet. she was never home. in compensation we banished sobriety, mashing cookie particles into the wood flooring, saving our breath for the dawn hours. so much to say, all teeth, all buzzing lips and electric tongues. I can still hear your laugh, your radioactive throat laugh. I can still cite those words.
I exist in two places,
here and where you are. |
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