The description, a prescription
Scrawled upon my chest
Elegantly illegibly
That warm potion
Of what we've missed, messed
Forgotten
Duration upon duration
What it is
Is a strange memory
Like love on a summer day
In childhood
I've been reaching back at you
Not to be loved
But to feel it—
Radiating off my own skin
Like sunshine, burning,
My lips and eyes
And grasping at my tongue
With newly emerged teeth
Not yet explored, strangely
Smooth yet jagged
I yearn for that, again and again
The taste of love
In the cushions of your eyes
I want to taste love
In the way you run your heart
Through my fingers.
YOU ARE READING
Ice on My Lashes
PoetryCan I give you words-the kind that sting & kiss, both at once. As does this storm, fiercely blowing at the leaves within your belly, green and supple to the tongue. Can I give you, what was torn, from my slaughtered gut? -The Cold Prose of Winter...
