Friday, April 20, 2012

What He Said

i saw him whisper
behind her pretty little ear
eyes closed
her lips parting
with a silent gasp
his stare intensified
and kindled
a swaying song
just for her to hear
and I saw her hand
forget to avoid
the rise of her breasts
and her weight
lean back to him
I saw muscles in his neck
rope faster and faster
and the weakness consumed her
red mouth sighing wider
and her liquidity
rhythming her hips
building like
a slow stampede
of horses sweating
and tossing heads
to the throb of the hunt
but only words
invaded her
thrusting squeezing fluttering
until her fists clenched handfuls
of his shirt
until her head arched
into his neck
pulling thunder from skies
slicing lightning

then the words disintegrated in so much air
sprinkling ash around her feet
and no one needed or cared
to possess them


Charles Gramlich said...

Powerful. This is really good.

Anonymous said...


the walking man said...

wonderful rise to a crescendo echoing off to the vanishing past.

Lee said...

Love. love. love this!!!

Anonymous said...

Charles, thanks!

Choco, much appreciated. :)

Walking Man, crescendo. Yes. That's almost as important as the reason behind beginning the climb in the first place.

Lee, :D

Jackie Jordan said...

I read it before I left and again when I returned ... seductive, enchanting and quite graceful.

Anonymous said...

I really really like this. It's brimming with so much passion and energy. The images just seem to ripple through me when i read it. Love it, love it, love it.

Anonymous said...

Jackie, many thanks! Sorry I've been scarce from the internet lately.

Attalenell, that's so gratifying to hear! I want these kinds of poems to evoke that sort of reaction, but it's hard to achieve. I tend to assume that they fall far short.

Jackie Jordan said...

I have a habit of writing confessionals into my work, metaphorically mind you, but indeed fact. Life gives us a desire to tell our stories to the world, to share and seek approval. But once our story is told it's no longer a secret, and our heart is exposed to opiniion. Upon hearing these opinionated judgements, we regress to lying and covering our asses. For if the real truth be known, we are prone to conviction. Ah, fiction - hide my heart well!