Cooling

The pressure of your lip, so warm
you say, the cup to your mouth,
brow wrinkled by the hot liquid
pouring over your tongue. Now

 

why is it that I insist on sending
you mismatched shards of poetry
when you, yourself, are so very
close...

 

to being strung back together.

 

My finger on the brim, circling
your question, the mug cooling,
eyes fixed on the dissipating steam
between your face and mine. It's

 

because you've interrupted
a terrible dream I was having
with your urgent need to make
what we are into something

 

palpable and disconnected.

 

You take out the napkins, gum wrappers, faded postcards with my handwriting and tear them up into the tiniest pieces. I gather them into my palm and sprinkle them back into your drink when you aren't looking. Then you ask

 

What I think
of the jagged
edges those
beautiful mountains
make at dusk...

Reviews

[James K. Blaylock]

Another wonderful read. I really enjoyed these stanzas

My finger on the brim, circling
your question, the mug cooling,
eyes fixed on the dissipating steam
between your face and mine. It's



because you've interrupted
a terrible dream I was having
with your urgent need to make
what we are into something



palpable and disconnected.

[Charisma Moonfairy]

A very interesting poem with a lot of interesting visuals painted in the mind as you are reading it. I must admot this is not a format I am used to but it is very interesting to say the very least and a very good read as well. Good job and I look forward to reading more from you when I have the time to do so.