2A Poem by h d e rushin2 young lovers stand in line before me. She turns and stands on her tippy toes to kiss the under side of his chin. He bends his neck slightly to accept it. They are like the gulls with the tiny fish I cant see without my glasses. The big male swallowing more than he shares. Don't you like the way Bear Grills says "pure"? He means it. He means that all the other water you drop your thirsty knees before and cup your hands to drink, is not the stuff of insect wings and purple loosestrife. I told a friends little girl about gulls and it was hard to get the words out. How to explain the pleasures of uncooked fish; of this earth-bound existence? How do you explain red or being nearest the sea? How do you explain catching rain drops on your tongue while in love? How does one disregard the allegorical in favor of the forensic? What hand print, blackened with sadness and hunger, in those tiny synonyms, do you give off unthinking? The majority of Dickinson's poems, the more unthinkable ones I mean, the ones she meant to sear thru you as you sit quietly there, are no more the grants and grunts of a 19th century woman pondering love than the young , their captivating condition you just cant turn your head from. It's power is the rain of membranous poesy . It's real secrets are ambitions to your memory as you think of how you felt then. Since now my own gnarly toes have curled up like some terrible, terrible thing....Just saying. © 2016 h d e rushinFeatured Review
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Added on January 22, 2016Last Updated on January 22, 2016 Author
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