When you talk about our love
with meth-mouth-smile, it’s like
finding a garbage bag floating
in the stagnant pools behind
forsaken factories, and see
a femur shape that cling to foil
of plastic black, to smell remains
of what has past, and lost.
(as slimy water under bridges).
There is a taste of dumpster in
your words, as if exhumed the
corpse we buried could be made
to breathe, as if our pyre could
be modified to fireplace. What’s
past is lost, dissolved with acid,
burnt, eradicated from the soil.
But yet, I fall again into your
arms; and once again with lid
of coffin shut we kiss, embrace
Today Victoria hosts Open Link Night at dVerse and you can bring any poem that you like (or maybe even dislike). I got the idea to use some CSI like metaphors to paint a picture of a love that doesn’t really work. Soon April is over with the 30 poems that I have done (with some VAT on top). Come join us when we open at 3PM EST.
April 28, 2016