Category Archives: skin

against all advice

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.

salt-swooped, enticed

from the dark deep lake of his eyes

washed up on your shore

left there

balanced on a blade of his hair

bent-winged

you take a second chance at his skin

which has the look of tin 

left out in a recent storm

yet glinting

dangerous as a virus starting 

fished from his mouth

.

an unfamiliar curl of dull light like

a line of syllable struck on an infinite yet vacant sky

sickles you in its soiled embrace

he circles in again

patient like a surgeon

from a distant planet

.

you gulp you rumble yet fail

to notice sap that blooms and spills

ecstatic from his ruinous touch

that acts like a compliment, but isn’t so

conspicuous

.

you wilt you mumble

as he picks his teeth

larger than easter island monuments

as you swoon

sucked clean as a puckered scar

flapping there, un-speeched

beached on remnant happiness

no-one else gets

.

this vice is your 

kryptonite

.

.

not a haiku

.

https://www.napowrimo.net/

NaPoWriMo day 24

 Hard-boiled detective novels are known for their use of vivid similes, often with an ironic or sarcastic tone. Novelist Raymond Chandler is particularly adept at these. Here are a few from his novels:

  • A few locks of dry, white hair clung to his scalp, like wild flowers fighting for life on a bare rock.
  • Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.
  • From 30 feet away she looked like a lot of class. From 10 feet away she looked like something made up to be seen from 30 feet away.
  • She smelled the way the Taj Mahal looks by moonlight.
  • He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.

Today, I’d like to challenge you to channel your inner gumshoe, and write a poem in which you describe something with a hard-boiled simile. Feel free to use just one, or try to go for broke and stuff your poem with similes till it’s . . . as dense as bread baked by a plumber, as round as the eyes of a girl who wants you to think she’s never heard such language, and as easy to miss as a brass band in a cathedral.

breakfast love

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.

like a river i hold close in my arms, my body

your run through me — a quiver

of arrows and slings stroke my limbs, my mind

like stars plucked for your eyes to startle me

a name stammered and chimed — a sound

surrounds — a kind of grace escapes

.

i’ve lain down in moonlit thoughts of you

awoke to the sun of your skin and fingers

taunting the morning with stolen scents —

of your breath as breakfast, love

of murmurs of bees stirring my hair

a dapple of flowers gathering

over a slither of summer heather

over darkened hills, a moan, a chill

a gasp of lemon-dazzle glints blackening

the shiny stones of you blinding

me to other

worlds

other landscapes

other loves

drowned out

.

this is my sorrow, my secret, my dove

the rain in my mouth announces it

no other

hears it

as happiness

swallows

.

not a haiku

.

NapoWriMo day 10 :- write a love poem

https://www.napowrimo.net