Seven ways till Sunday...
seven hours
are spent waxing lyrical and
kissing your eyelashes in the library,
studying.
you mouth the third knuckle on my right hand,
and memorize the hollow of my cheek.
ii.
tender kisses press like
afterthoughts and postscripts on my forehead:
p.s: te quiero.
iii.
you inhale so beautifully.
iv.
i will remember your iceberg-words.
the door slams with
a crash,
like a glacier being born.
you fall into me seven hours later,
breathing frantic apologies and
nervously fingering the arch of your nose.
later i will think of
bruises on my thighs and
smile
v.
bells of ireland grow rings around the old oak
where we would sit in
dust-mote halos,
autumned and marooned.
you have carved our names
on the trunk, like something
sacred.
vi.
you would rather have died nobly than lived in vain—
and so you did.
vii.
was your favourite number.
Poetry by Inked.
Read 1159 times
Written on 2006-05-11 at 04:10
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Seven Reasons Why I Loved You.
i.seven hours
are spent waxing lyrical and
kissing your eyelashes in the library,
studying.
you mouth the third knuckle on my right hand,
and memorize the hollow of my cheek.
ii.
tender kisses press like
afterthoughts and postscripts on my forehead:
p.s: te quiero.
iii.
you inhale so beautifully.
iv.
i will remember your iceberg-words.
the door slams with
a crash,
like a glacier being born.
you fall into me seven hours later,
breathing frantic apologies and
nervously fingering the arch of your nose.
later i will think of
bruises on my thighs and
smile
v.
bells of ireland grow rings around the old oak
where we would sit in
dust-mote halos,
autumned and marooned.
you have carved our names
on the trunk, like something
sacred.
vi.
you would rather have died nobly than lived in vain—
and so you did.
vii.
was your favourite number.
Poetry by Inked.
Read 1159 times
Written on 2006-05-11 at 04:10
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
ANUPAM |
SlipThruCracks |
PoeticProcrastination |
Texts |
by Inked. Latest textsThe Tulips All Have Died.Exit 129. Tire Fragments. Here You Are. Here I Am. Here We Were. 09-04-89 My favoritesThe Beech TreeTo the wind |
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