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I am involved in a women's (and one man) poetry group. We meet about once a month to share our words, thoughts, inspiration, ideas and critiques. This all goes down at one of the member's houses after a somewhat considerable amount of alcohol consumption (usually wine). ;) As vivacious of a group as we are, the liquid courage is more than welcomed before making ourselves so vulnerable to the poetry gods. At each gathering we have gotten into the habit of closing the evening with an assignment. -- Usually one word to be interpreted any way imaginable. This gives us all something common to write about and share at the next meeting. Last topic - PIERCING &nbs p; This is what I came up with:
A Fresh Breath Of Air
Left in check - mate makes my heart stop, like a stick up - breathless, weightless - gives me pick up like a double shot of espresso, seeping into my veins through the piercing in my bottom lip - there by the mechanical sucking of her flavor still clinging to my tongue, from the night we first kissed - I first felt anything beyond a puncture wound - then more six gauge holes in me than the tic marks on my heart - like the marks we make when trying to revive our favorite pen again, and again, and again... now each one filling up with the comfort of my lover - lightly upon my skin like the healing presence of a flower - resting upon a grave - such are my ever healing tic marks.
But I am not immune to scarring - not exempt from lessons, aging, fading, wading in a high - that space between the earth and sky, where people are foreboding - unknowing of their who or what or why - as I strum by singing - a cliche - of the time I too held up heavy things my friend - "It gets harder, then better, then numb and ends." - Unsure of the meaning, the needing for an answer that is not there until -- wait - a fresh breath of air - and I am safely falling like a lotto ball, love's luck is calling for me this time - for me, this time I am free.
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