Give Us Soft Spaces

With our perforated hearts,

and our plum sized lungs,

there is no peace

at the end of our journey,

We can't strain the hunger out of us,

we know that love is not inherently kind nor

does it need to be generous

when there is so little time to spare.

we are parasites, leeches

sometimes, a loving virus,

weaving poems with your cells.

we deal in decayables,

soft flesh

soft matter,

soft fat and creamy centers,

we love hurriedly, on our backs,

on our hands and knees,

we let our soft parts

speak for us,

we aren't permanent

and neither are you

why make love as if we are?

As if your shoes will always be

at our doorstep and our perfume will

always fragrance your sheets?

we don't chase forever in unfamiliar hands.

we will never ask you to promise,

nor will you catch us chasing wispy dreams

they float by us like milkweed at the close of day

we tell the wind, “keep whatever you can carry away”.

Author's Note

another one for future brushing up

Reviews

[Creepy Swine Guy]

I find this at the same time incredibly pleasing and terribly depressing. I think that your poem is incredibly insightful, and that makes me sad. As I read it, I gained a more clear understanding of the "we" and "you" of whom you speak (I think). It is refreshing and sorrowful to see so honest an assessment of your "we". I am sure that our "we" is equally culpable. It is just that no one has endeavored to find the words for so eloquent a Mea Culpa. Sigh! (100/100)

[lovejulez03]

Randomly looking at poets and stumbled across this beautiful piece. I agree with the previous comment that it is sad but it's so delicately raw and I enjoyed it so much. Thank you for sharing such beautifully written thoughts. :)