An Indulgence
I sit here
like a ferocious poet - all feeling, and love, and flint,
and force,
and guilt,
swallowing acrid waters to dampen the quilt
I wrapped around love, like romance,
and tilt
my chest just to feel again the statue of you inside.
And that you,
the one that I made,
yes, that you, still smacks
my waste;
that me, yes me,
that I made wrongly over so vast an ace,
plumping my bottom lip,
falling foul of a spelling bee,
thinking too much out loud
and reasoning too often with rum.
Mud is water that has travelled far
but has not run
and I,
I am a hippo,
cracking a kiss in the sun.
My breath bubbles, so precisely present:
"what have you become?"
Donna Marie Beck
Sun 5th Sep 2010 17:07
This is great, love the last part.
Dogstails.