deepundergroundpoetry.com
This Sigh
He sits with me on bridges,
And talks me out of the ledge.
He likes my certain innocence,
The poetry
In my body,
That certain
Edge.
I chase time -
We all must die.
On a cold night,
I show him my stars as
We sit, warmed by
Coffee and blue flames.
There were nights
When the touch is too much
Too hard,
Too soon -
And like a mad poet
Gripping pen too tightly,
He'd snap me in two,
Spilled ink -
Bruises black and blue.
There were days
For different places.
Call me a different name,
And I'd step back in time -
To rhymes,
And go forward
Teetering
Tipping
Over
The edge.
There are nights I
Fix myself in front of this mirror,
See these fragments
Of me,
These marks of him and
Memories of another.
Then these other
Colors
Of women
Before and after.
He hovers as I pen this.
His lips travel over skin,
Tempting
Me to write a word,
Another…
Another…
Enclosed in the (moon)
Awashed in blue light
This skin
Trembles.
He'd move the pen with me.
He'd write this poetry of sorts,
A story of woman lonely,
And he'd do it so well
Like he did a thousand stars before.
I am no first nor last,
Maybe not even lasting
Muse.
Not the last slab of marble,
Lump of clay.
Not the last line, not the last song,
Not the last woman.
And as we danced on the bridge
Between the fifth and sixth
Lamppost from here,
Between a whistle and deep sleep,
I shall move closer to him and let out this sigh.
At the last click of my heels, I shall smile.
Neither will he be mine.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDr7aTfBffU
Image: Marina and the Diamonds, Froot
And talks me out of the ledge.
He likes my certain innocence,
The poetry
In my body,
That certain
Edge.
I chase time -
We all must die.
On a cold night,
I show him my stars as
We sit, warmed by
Coffee and blue flames.
There were nights
When the touch is too much
Too hard,
Too soon -
And like a mad poet
Gripping pen too tightly,
He'd snap me in two,
Spilled ink -
Bruises black and blue.
There were days
For different places.
Call me a different name,
And I'd step back in time -
To rhymes,
And go forward
Teetering
Tipping
Over
The edge.
There are nights I
Fix myself in front of this mirror,
See these fragments
Of me,
These marks of him and
Memories of another.
Then these other
Colors
Of women
Before and after.
He hovers as I pen this.
His lips travel over skin,
Tempting
Me to write a word,
Another…
Another…
Enclosed in the (moon)
Awashed in blue light
This skin
Trembles.
He'd move the pen with me.
He'd write this poetry of sorts,
A story of woman lonely,
And he'd do it so well
Like he did a thousand stars before.
I am no first nor last,
Maybe not even lasting
Muse.
Not the last slab of marble,
Lump of clay.
Not the last line, not the last song,
Not the last woman.
And as we danced on the bridge
Between the fifth and sixth
Lamppost from here,
Between a whistle and deep sleep,
I shall move closer to him and let out this sigh.
At the last click of my heels, I shall smile.
Neither will he be mine.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gDr7aTfBffU
Image: Marina and the Diamonds, Froot
Published 6th Nov 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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6th Nov 2016 12:39pm
Such an enchanting piece, lady!
He likes my certain innocence,
The poetry
In my body,
That certain
Edge. > so much beauty in these lines and oh, how well you describe what men find attractive ;-)
The first shot of the video made me smile... it reminded me of my first kiss!
He likes my certain innocence,
The poetry
In my body,
That certain
Edge. > so much beauty in these lines and oh, how well you describe what men find attractive ;-)
The first shot of the video made me smile... it reminded me of my first kiss!
6th Nov 2016 12:56pm
Thank you, Duende.
And wow, your first kiss sounds nice! :)
(Getting impatient with mine, honestly, haha)
Always lovely to hear from you.
tpd
And wow, your first kiss sounds nice! :)
(Getting impatient with mine, honestly, haha)
Always lovely to hear from you.
tpd
6th Nov 2016 12:56pm
beautiful. Bridge of Sighs, I remember we were there.
woman lonely: what other story would beckon?...
woman lonely: what other story would beckon?...
6th Nov 2016 1:02pm
6th Nov 2016 1:06pm
6th Nov 2016 1:15pm
6th Nov 2016 11:13pm
A bridge of sighs, coffee and blue flame, a poets muse, and all those beautiful places, places from another time. We cherish them always and they inspire us...
As always, exceptional verses and a wonderful flowing of words.
As always, exceptional verses and a wonderful flowing of words.
7th Nov 2016 4:54am
7th Nov 2016 2:14am
This is beautifully done. I love bridges, they're ethereal and symbolic of choice.
7th Nov 2016 4:59am
Thank you, Ahavati. :) I'm glad you enjoyed it and this lonely bridge...
19th Nov 2016 11:47pm
This is one sexy ass exhalation.
I love the scenes you place me
in..
So many lusty love things are flowing
through this piece, and that pic
is no longer perfect but imperfect
ecstasy
-Howlings
I love the scenes you place me
in..
So many lusty love things are flowing
through this piece, and that pic
is no longer perfect but imperfect
ecstasy
-Howlings
21st Nov 2016 8:50am
Thank you, Howlings; I'm glad you enjoyed it. And I'm happy to see you again... :)
28th Nov 2016 8:05pm
To find the complexity of relationships which, like grinding gears, the clutch will slip
and mesh the gears for a while until, until, we need a change. I like your poem, the feeling and
clarity you present in an unclear world. I think it's what you meant. Wondering if the gear chosen
is the right one. I like your picture too.
and mesh the gears for a while until, until, we need a change. I like your poem, the feeling and
clarity you present in an unclear world. I think it's what you meant. Wondering if the gear chosen
is the right one. I like your picture too.
1st Dec 2016 4:51am
I think I no longer wonder. :) Whether the gear I chose is the right one or not, I believe I have learned to accept that it is not permanent...like you said, it will need a change. That is what's clear to me now...
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment, SirRichard; I truly do appreciate it. And I'm glad you like the poem and the picture. :)
tpd
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment, SirRichard; I truly do appreciate it. And I'm glad you like the poem and the picture. :)
tpd
