The ache is a susurration
pounding my chest with oxygen-fire
Let us put down these arrogant masks
And bid midnight to come, wine-
spilled with our tempest secrets,
Our eyes starved with possibilities
Not even our families at war, can define
Our words find each other
like threads to needle's eye, spooning like velvet storm
Each touch is mercury's fever
Marking time like panther chasing a wild harmony
Let's begin our own dancing, slow
sipping the perfume of night-blooms
Gripping us with passion's forbidden fruit
Thick with cups of spice
The full moon moans
at the back of my throat-
I say your name
over
& over
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Synesthesia hosted by Victoria C. Slotto - Thanks for the visit ~
the morning is a faded water-
color, silent as ivory
keys, we swim into
until we tasted undercurrents
ripe as scarlet verses, sliding
exquisitely down our bellies-
the tides peel our skin
moist as tenderness-
no word is colorless
in your eyes, cadence is you
kissing me slowly, like Sun-
day morning, the sweetest candle-
slide your hands beneath me ,
liquid is sky, everything is a seed-
this is how we make
our memory
in river’s aria,
jettisoning into the wild cosmos, the rush
cradling us -
a birthing, or a dying of familiar things -
but oh, don't let me forget
this moment -
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub: Putting synesthesia in Poetry - There is a neurological condition called synesthesia in which the patient confuses sensation. For example, he may taste a fragrance, or hear a flower. Have you ever touched a rainbow or seen a toccata? In poetry, synesthesia refers specifically to figurative language that includes a mixing of senses.
picture credit: tumblr.com
