The Bordeaux GreyA Poem by Little BirdieI could be three times the charm.I like missing you more than I like kissing you. I don't believe in excessive slashes and underscores. I don't believe I was made for this moment yet here I am. I could be three times the charm and burn your tongue, burn holes in your T-shirt, burn your thoughts so you're always warm when thinking of me. I'm a mausoleum beneath the watery edges of raw cement, amidst a dented street. Here I can pretend sublimation is something I'm entirely capable of doing without fear in-between the lines. Here I can pretend I can fold myself like origami and hold metaphors down like a paperweight.
I am sorry. I wish I had shown you that money isn't the only thing that can be given. A hunched-over arch of defeat, I wondered what it was you loved so much that you guarded it with your entire vertebra. I was too late to realise that loving the idea of you and loving you wasn't the same, down from ankle straps to your icy cheeks, tempest struck the calm like a naughty child over the fingers of the one moment powerful enough to change the climate, that the burn on your tongue will bitter up like lemon juice.
Tingling flesh and memories crushed, I was nothing but iodine, and you knew.
to capture the small wind in the gale of your subconscious, stirring it up so no tear is left unshed, no bruise left unfaded. the scars on my face and rust in your eyes but I'd be damned if I let your wired frown stop me because than I liked missing you. © 2013 Little BirdieFeatured Review
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