Like Glass

She said my poems are like glass

I think she thought that meant they were clear

and she could see right through them

she drank her wine and smiled above the rim

my poems are like glass

she said;

She says they are like glass and she takes a pea

from the bowl, pulls the seeds with her teeth

and tosses the shell aside casually

she thinks that’s a poetic action, she thinks

I will take note and write about it

and she’s right, I watch her delicate fingers

each do a dance over their own

to her lips, parted, the air to her wicked tongue

that I so long to taste

she laughs she winks her amber eye

crinkle around the lines age has just started to carve

that I long to trace, later, when the lamp burns low

she knows how that glass cuts skin and exposes

that heart still thudding despite the cold,

exposed to air and straining

she’s held that old organ in the delicate fingers

I so poetically noted,

she's positive I hide nothing behind glass,

the silicate she thinks these little poems are;

Poems as glass, sharp little things

glitter and sting and bleed, and

always reflect back from the angle

we see.

Reviews

[AJNJ]

This poem has some stark imagery that I really enjoyed. I like my poetry to sting or cut or reflect as the case may be so yes, glass really was very relatable to me. I hope you are compiling all this poetry of yours. You are a very interesting writer on here. You can hold attention. So I hope you're at least thinking on those lines.

[JR]

Heh, yeah, I'm definitely compiling all of it, and I appreciate it. The idea I was shooting for was that some people think of it as translucent like glass, but really its more like a mirror, reflecting themselves back instead of showing me. Its a complicated idea and I might edit this a lot.

[AJNJ]

Okay....As glass can be transparent, translucent and even opaque. Then again, a mirror reflects...So this is indeed interesting. All the best with the editing.