Pouring Ink~

He pours Braille into my cup

his story roams my taste buds

I sample his prose de jour on the inside of my cheeks

little pebbles of exotic spice

bursting open

I swallow metaphors in amber casings

nectar on the underbelly of a rose

a little note of edible wafer

opens

a garden between my ribs;

the violin purrs under my palm

printing music into the nimble joints of my fingers

He paints Braille the length of my spine

a double helix

music

I am a living Haiga

a sensate geisha

an ornate teapot in my hand

I pour my Braille into his teacup

our fingers brush

generating

a new language

 

 

copyright:2010vssmd/mausemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

 

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

This makes me think of a poem entitled, "Braille," by John Lee Clark:

"The world rests on my lap.
If my finger is the sky,
Then under it the fields prosper.
Row after perfect row of buds
Bid me gather all I can.
The harvest is food for thought."

He was born deaf and lost his sight when he was an adolescent.

It's extraordinary to think of how those who have sight go through life blind to all the beauty around them. Thankfully, you are not one of those individuals. You have the gift of making all things beautiful.

Linda Marie

[Brad]

is this???

[Brad]

what a great excuse to play "touchy feely"...hahaha...

seriously, this whole write went down like a perfect pot of tea...my taste buds scream for more of your braille