Spaceships

That sea of cars is so beautiful there

New, shiny automobiles taking on a

liquid shape, catching light like water

You want to scream at them,

and throw your voice like a lifesaver

into the water and drag yourself in

Away from the drowning, in newness and defeat,

drowning in the heat of his body

in the quiet electricity in yours

that shakes you, vibrations in your skeleton

“Are you cold?”

“No.” His voice pulls you out of the thrashing waters

Silent in your mind. He doesn’t see the water,

He that alien who fell from some strange planet

To teach you a thing or two.

He takes your hand. 

He knows exactly what to do. 

He stands you in front of him and guides you forward

Like that trail you walked at summer camp,

in complete darkness, just a rope

a dead rope showing you where to go

But you only act like a blind child,

You know where to go, what to do,

what you know you don’t want to do

He throws you his voice, his question

You throw him your “Yes” and let his

yucky spitty mouth wrap around your heart

But you forget to close your eyes

and you see the sea of cars, moving like ants.

They’re tiny from your spaceship.

Reviews

[Amanda]

I am the portrait of free-verse ineptitude, so take this with a large grain of salt. I couldn't really understand the meaning of this poem, but again, your use of description is breathtaking.