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Just Because 3
Just Because 2
Just Because
I feel the need to explain….
I have been packing and hugely negligent. I will be back once the dust clears and the last box is labeled.
G.
Who Could Resist, George
What is in a kiss?
Soft as it may be. Sweet and wine scented. There is no rush to deliberate on the greater reasoning. No. There is only the soft ripe apricot of lip, the tender flesh on the inner bite…
A kiss is something dangerous. Overlooked. Such rising tides smash at the shore of my reason under it’s subtlety. I am a fool for the warm ease at which it quickly, quietly, drowns me.
Remember your first? Your last? The one with the slow smile and the agenda hidden under her breastbone? I do. Yes… I do.
She had red hair and wore my perfume. Stole my dresses and filled my bed with her cold feet.
Dangerous kiss. Dangerous slippery slope she pushed me down.
And then this last kiss, tentative. Restrained. A fleeting but tantalizing prelude to the pink flesh that lay behind the girlish capriciousness. I am always a sucker for a secret.
What is in a kiss.
Nothing. Spit and teeth. A flick of tongue. There is no mystery there.
What is the secret it keeps?
Desire.
G.
Pink Petals
She walks out under
the cherry trees
in blossom.
They wave gently
to her passing, petals
falling to supplicate
at her pointed heel.
Gentle green trampled
in the flicker of blond
she fidgets away her prettiness
forgetting
(this blooming lasts
only for a short time)
Do we envy the fearless
in her smile?
Or is it the turn of her hip
and upturned breast?
The petals drift, snagging
onto the beautiful stasis of youth;
a trembling anticipation
of falling
to middle ground.
See this? Bruise? Scar? This
marking on my body
saying “ I lived my life,
where you are now just walking”
(under that same pink
blossom wedding bower)
Does she hear our eyes
loudly calling out to the wind?
G.
This is a Love Poem without Restraint – Lorna CROZIER
This poem
is full of pain
full of pieces
It cries out
oh! oh! oh!
It has no pride
no discretion
It whimpers
It will not drop its eyes
when it meets a stranger
It will not hide
its tears
▪
It will talk
of beauty
Lilacs Apples
The smell of rain
in caraganas
Your mouth
Your eyes
What are you going to do about it?
You cannot stop me
now
▪
The moon shines on this page
as the poems writes
itself. It is trying to find
whiteness
frost on snow
two feathers
on a pillow
your hands
upon
my skin
▪
These words are tired
of being
words
They refuse to sit here
pretending
they can’t move
off the page
These are the fist
ones to leave
their white space
They fall
on your tongue
letter
by
letter
like raindrops
One of them
is my name
What ill you do with it?
It has decided to live
inside you
▪
This poem has no restraint
It will not say
plum blossom
sunset
rubbing stone
cat’s cradle
It refused to be evasive
I miss you
I miss you
Come home
▪
I won’t talk of passion
but the sleep that follows
when our bodies
touch
that moment
just before waking
when we realize
we have been holding one another
in our sleep
▪
How do you use the word love
in a poem?
Love.
If you look at it
long enough
it will burn your eyes
Starfish
Things I Have Forgotten