MAYBE I LOVE YOUR GHOST

Our arched bones
intersect
in a casual erotica,
and our fingers
know
all the ways of
wanting—
words crawl
from my open mouth
back to a memory
of tangled arms
and crisp linen Sundays
we know well—
breathless gasps
leak out,
and sparks
soak back in
to patches of
dripping
wet
skin
of me and you.
Inhaled kisses
and exhaled moans
are the best kinds
of goodbyes,
and filament hearts
burn white
to keep us warm
in a breathed out smoke
that made our love
a colour
of gone
grey.

2 Comments

  1. the photo complements the poem. how do you do this so frequently? I envy your talent. the first three lines are a wonderful opening because of the sounds, especially of the fricative “c’s.” And “of tangled arms/and crisp linen Sundays” is a strong image because of the tactile contrast. then “and filament/ hearts/burn white/ to keep us warm” expresses both pain and pleasure at the same time. it’s always a pleasure to read and view your work.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thankyou for taking your time here! I always appreciate your kind, thoughtful comments, and those moments you visit.

      Sometimes the poem proceeds the words, and sometimes the other way around. And sometimes, they both occur together and at the same time. I’m not sure if I’ll always try for a visual, but at the moment it feels right, so I go along with it. How does it work, when you write?

      Like

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