Last night I dreamed: an old lover
spent his passion in my mouth,
laughing as I choked on the bitter torrent.
I woke, open-mouthed and gasping,
and stumbled through the darkness
to rinse the acrid dryness from my tongue.
Then, slipping back between the sheets,
I wrapped myself around your sleeping form
and brushed my lips against your shoulder--
grateful for the cool sweetness of your skin.
13 hours ago
5 comments:
Wow, that is somethingelse. The contrast is so effective, the poem just dissolves into the security and tenderness at the end. Your poetry is evolving and taking off. It is the same structurally and in its intelligence and precision but I think there is an increasing confidence and wrapping the idea in a concrete image often gives a greater resonance or something. So it is still the metaphysical poem but the idea has clothes, if that makes any sense. Anyway, fantastic work.
This is an old poem, so I guess that means I'm devolving. Ha. Most of my old stuff has concrete images. Where I'm at now leans more toward absurd abstract obscurity. Perhaps that means the reader has to work a little harder. There's "no idea but in things" dontcha know.
Haha, whoops me then, sorry. I am just oldfashioned, I guess, I do prefer the idea dressed but you are such a fantastical poet you can write anything and it will be supercool.
The story parts of this poem may be "Concrete" but the meaning seems to be vividly explored through metaphor...
Nicely done, a brave poem...
Poet Man
Hello, Poet Man. Thanks for stopping by and taking the time to comment.
Meaning. Hmmm. I wonder. Does meaning need metaphor to find itself? Wait. If I explore this line of thought any further my head may explode. Heh.
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