The Breathing Fog of May and the Insistence of Wednesday's Sun.

It's...

irrelevant

we're two stories, picture books rubbed raw and torn pages, he's

ripped

up the middle, down the lines of his face on the left and his right ear

dangles

over my toes when midnight falls, I watch him, inconspicuous, listen to my sleep.

I'm breathing, I'm attacked by May and I used to know lavender beneath the fog, I used to know dawn, I blanketed myself with scratches and wrote love letters to April when I missed the rain...

but now I write letters to him, hoping, somewhere, my handwriting can tattoo his skin.

He...

feels...

sometimes, I think it's love, that's what he's termed this undiluted destruction of me and it's a shame I didn't stain him, it's a shame my blood doesn't laugh at him from his palms, it's a

shame

I don't crawl over him like fleas at midnight, biting, itching and tearing him to shreds...

it's a shame I still make him smile.

I know the shape of Tuesday evening, she turns sideways beneath the moon, and my thighs become blue with memories and reflections but I leave the window open to confuse tomorrow

I crack the glass and pray I don't bleed, I...

slice through sunlight, I'm

tired

and he's sleeping, his eyes are always closed....

and I whisper to Wednesday to steal his eyelashes, I cry to April to blow them to me and I promised, I promised Thursday I'd make these wishes....

but I don't know

how to collect.

He's ineffectual as long as I'm cold, he's problematic and I sweat, swatting at headlights and curling under blankets, I'm trying to fool myself but

my eyes don't close...

and I've spit on last January, indignant in her youth, she'll never hear the screaming pain of forgiveness...

and my mouth

won't

close, my teeth won't crash and creek and grind him down...

not this close to May, anyway, not this close to

Wednesday.

Reviews

[Muse]

this story..poem..whatever you want to call it. It's simply beautiful and unique!

[Everett DeValle]

Beautiful Poetry...I love the title too, as I do breath in fog where I am from. Lovely, Lovely, write.

[Black Hole Halo]

well, I don't know much about this poetry yet, how it works, but this poem makes me think about how the other side feels when I open my eyes and she's staring at me like that. I really think this is something else, wonderful stuff!

[no sun]

An incredibly unique poem. It screams with pain but yet have pleasure hidden within. I have never read anything like this and I mean that as a compliment.

[Jay Levon]

Interesting, with some great lines and imagery, well done!

[Chris]

I came back...

[Chris]

I put a voice to this... to hear you echo inside. I don't EVER do that lightly.

[Kelly Scheppers]

I do hope you return...I'm amazed!


Kelly

[bookworm]

Well Jeanmarie, I can't quote the whole darn thing....although I'd feel like I should. You are so gifted, so so so amazing with language. I can literally see your verses as I read them. My favorite lines: "Its a shame I didn't stain him, its a shame my blood doesn't laugh at him from my palms." And especially this one: "Its a shame I still make him smile." That one is hitting me like a train...seriously, you are a force to be reckoned with, dear Jeanmarie....such a glorious human...beautiful beautiful work....thank you...