Use Your Tongue

My eyes and hips, and that spot over my heart (the one you kiss to make me moan all my wants) understand body language. The rest of me needs
more.

Speak to me.

If you don’t remember to use your tongue, you will lose my heart…

…without heart, you
can’t have me.

Speak to me.

.
– for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55 and Poets United.

A Shriveled Blossom

“To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want and not to have—to want and want—how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!” ~ Virginia Woolf

.
I am longing
for days when we were
not a shriveled blossom
shrouded by sun-
light and death.

Has the wind whispered
secrets my pen can’t keep?
We miss you, my ink
and me.

When my ink misses you
most, I wish for words
to write you out
of my veins.

Last night, I ate kiwi
coated in passion fruit juice,
pecans and memory—

every bite tasted of ashes.

.
the wee notes…
– Marian, at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, gave us 30 themes and invited us to write a poem about one (or several) of them. I wanted Cake, but I ended up dancing with Romance…
– Linked to Poets United, Poetry Pantry 380.

the visual poetry


If I Could

The first 3 lines of the piece below are a magnetic poem bit I posted on social media. After it was described as “sweet” several times, a friend messaged me to ask, “Were you going for ‘sweet’ with that little poem?” I said to him, “I was going for poetry.”

You see, my Wicked Luvs, I love fiction because it lets me build (and experience) complex detailed worlds that can rarely be properly (or safely) touched by nonfiction. Poetry is… different. Poems do wild things with words… caress language in ways that leave flesh and spirit (and parts we didn’t even know we had) gasping. Fiction shows us the path towards a story’s secrets. Poetry shows the heart and guts of a thing, and lets us feel… what we must.

So, that is that. And this is my bit of poetry for today:
.

“If I Could”

If I could,
I would write you
a heart—
I would spell it right
out of your chest,
see if it bleeds
or if it just lies
there, pretending
to love,
to hurt,
to know
(to really know)
what it is to be
human.

If I could,
I would write you
a heart

to feel.

.
– Written for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55, and linked to Poets United.