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La Petite Mort

A cold brightness hung above the sea

An empty stage onto which she walked

The stars, like blinking voyeurs, watching

Waiting.

The cry of a new born shattering

The Silence.

Tectonic plates moving slowly 

Against each other and

Smudging the boundaries

Trickling water. Heaving muscles

A long held exhalation

Silver birds rising like prayers

Into a pitch dark sky

The slip and slide of sweat on skin

She is fading even as she is arriving

There is something on the tip of her tongue

Something long forgotten

Something longed for

Something

◄ Autumn Leaves

In Budapest ►

Comments

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Laura Taylor

Tue 21st Feb 2017 13:53

Yep those last three lines are absolute killer. Really enjoyed this poem. It was a quality to it that I struggle to find in my own writing. A kind of forensic application of imagery.

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Stu Buck

Tue 21st Feb 2017 11:10

excellent. really enjoyed this, especially the stars like voyeurs, a great piece of observational cleverness. the last three lines are excellent and round out the piece beautifully.

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