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literature
Forests Undone
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Literature Text
naked, pliable, in the palm of my hands,
my little Peter Pan prince,
carrying flute music like satin-weave through the forest,
your cheekbones like the curve of a womans’ back
in the middle of lovemaking star-rides.
little tiger, drinking out of a dewdrop
you devour me with that flame mouth
and you stalk through my heart
slashing leaves, leaving pawprints and lighting fires
destroy me with your beauty
i want to melt right into the stars
as long as im burning I don’t care that im dying.
my little Peter Pan prince,
carrying flute music like satin-weave through the forest,
your cheekbones like the curve of a womans’ back
in the middle of lovemaking star-rides.
little tiger, drinking out of a dewdrop
you devour me with that flame mouth
and you stalk through my heart
slashing leaves, leaving pawprints and lighting fires
destroy me with your beauty
i want to melt right into the stars
as long as im burning I don’t care that im dying.
this is about as good as it gets for now - which is not saying much.
the simple truth is that i'm tired, happy and confused all at once. all three, singly, put a lid on poetry. and together, they stifle it totally. when this passes, there'll be lots more to say.
but for now, HAD to write this, so i did.
the simple truth is that i'm tired, happy and confused all at once. all three, singly, put a lid on poetry. and together, they stifle it totally. when this passes, there'll be lots more to say.
but for now, HAD to write this, so i did.
© 2006 - 2024 zareen-b
Comments2
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It was beautiful.
I loved the smallness of it, the words seemed stripped away, but not to make them vulnerable. To show their truth. You always write with a red-fringed honesty, like an emotional forest fire.
This one, was a jungle.
I loved the smallness of it, the words seemed stripped away, but not to make them vulnerable. To show their truth. You always write with a red-fringed honesty, like an emotional forest fire.
This one, was a jungle.