deepundergroundpoetry.com

Image for the poem Our bodies, life's script

Our bodies, life's script

A stainless steel pan,  
was placed upon the stove.    
   
Four eggs to be cracked,    
four pieces of bacon to be laid,    
onto olive oil ciabatta bread,    
which became our ritual in the morning;    
afterwords, our daily routine began.    
   
Two toothbrushes soaked in mutual    
love was pressed upon each brush,    
cleansing our teeth,    
as we shared the mirror of    
unity.    
   
We began to put our clothes on,    
turquoise pin stripped slacks,    
black sweater vest, white dress shirt    
underneath, Chloe perfume,    
and ebony boots decorated her.    
   
A grey Armani suit covered me,    
with a dark scarf to shoulder it,    
aside with black Stacy Adams,    
were that days ensemble.    
   
The world was ready for the show,    
yet our bodies weren't ready to    
become the script.    
   
"Take care my love"    
"You as well my dear"
,    
thoughtful notions exchanged    
as we parted ways for the day.    
   
The clock struck 7:00 pm Est,    
and our schedules were almost over.    
I was able to leave early,    
around 6:00 pm;however, she wasn't    
as lucky.    
   
It was 7:30 pm,    
her essence brushed it's shoes off    
at the entrance,    
a heart shape doormat,    
my anatomy,    
collected each fragment;    
as her soul strutted    
onto nostalgia lane.    
   
I had borrowed her time,    
she had leaned over to my    
left ear,    
holding the right ear    
with her delicate angelic fingertips,    
erecting chills down my spine,    
eradicating normalcy.    
   
Rose pedal lips murmuring our love,    
"lend me a hand,    
and I'll lend you a heart"
,    
were the words seeping into my skin,    
engraving a bond.    
   
I leaned my head back,    
glancing at the greatest person    
that my pupils had ever recorded,    
and stored within my neuro-circuit boards.    
   
Her emotions were projected onto her lips.    
They were constantly switching,    
the upper part was love, lust, companionship,    
the lower half hate, loneliness, solidification;    
a wheel of uncertainty spun onto    
those lips.    
   
I had tapped both sides of the spectrum,    
landing on love, and loneliness.    
I wasn't sure how to make out the lower half,    
and my heart dismissed it,    
as it knew the only thing that'd be alone,    
would be the idea of never being together.    
   
"I'm going to get some ingredients,    
for tonight"
,    
had escaped her thoughtful mouth.    
   
She began to put on her translucent scarf,    
mahogany boots, black and grey plaid gloves,    
and her alabaster hat;    
as she readied herself to depart.    
   
I hugged her,    
the unbreakable seal has been placed    
upon us both, warding off separation.    
   
I turned the canary color door knob    
to the left, on the ebony door;    
the wind bathed us in a new life,    
a nice welcoming gift,    
to what was to come of us,    
and it felt beautiful.    
   
She began to cross the street,    
looking back, smiling and waving,    
irises glistening,    
as she was venturing further away.    
   
I looked away, as did she,    
after we noticed distance    
is our new companion.    
   
Closing the door,    
I felt anxious,    
curious,    
and I felt alive for once;    
as my legs blanketed the floor,    
whilst my back pressed up against    
the door.    
   
I had heard a massive commotion    
outside, and thought nothing of it,    
until my heart began to ache,    
alarming and preparing me for whatever    
is out there.    
   
After I opened the door,    
I had the need to run North-East of town,    
my pulses became the tour guide of reality.    
   
I arrived at 32nd st in Manhattan.    
   
A black Cadillac Deville was in the middle of the    
intersection.    
   
Crowds forming walls,    
so I disrupted the structure,    
to see what was going.    
   
There she was the love of my life,    
laying on the ground, with a faint smile.    
   
I cast my love,    
my arms to shelter    
her misery.    
   
I had held her head up    
with my left hand,    
as the blood flowed out of her mouth.    
Her life began to drip onto my    
white shirt, what seemed to be    
our final canvas.    
   
"Why are you smiling?"    
"For some odd reason,    
I knew you were coming.    
I also knew that I barely had    
much life left in me;    
so I smiled seeing my other half.    
Can you blame me for loving you,    
because I can't see a day go by    
without your infectious smile    
broadening my days.    
I will always love you."
   
   
Wiping off the blood    
from her lips,    
I kissed and cradled her    
for a bit.    
   
She had looked up at me,    
and her unconditional voice,    
the harp of unity,    
began to play to our sorrow;    
"don't cry,    
be strong for the    
both of us,    
I'll always be with you,    
no matter the journey,    
remember that."
   
   
My tears had broken    
the dam that was my lips,    
severing everything I grew    
to love, and accept.    
   
"I can't fathom remorselessness,    
so let me be selfish and cry    
for the both of us."
   
I had wanted to cocoon    
myself in our love.    
   
The reaper of memories came to    
collect another soul,    
to halt it from wandering alone    
onto the planes of the restless.    
   
Wings were broken;    
a heart was soaked in    
hopeless notions,    
I played the weak,    
she played the soft spoken.    
   
Chasing the faceless    
was never the lever    
of truth,    
our love,    
the misguided youth.    
   
Eyelids began to shake,    
as each tear drips.    
The ground took a sip of my pain.    
   
I held onto each moment,    
like a child holding onto    
their first grasp at life.    
   
I had shuck my head like an etch or sketch    
in disbelief of her being erased,    
and losing the feeling of her fingertips,    
the broken hour glass,    
sand dissolving in my palms    
   
An endless road littered with nightmares were coming to life,    
as those violet irises evaporated before me.
Manley_Pointer
Written by Manley_Pointer
Published | Edited 27th Feb 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1 reading list entries 0
comments 1 reads 545
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
COMPETITIONS
Today 10:44pm by Josh
SPEAKEASY
Today 10:09pm by AverageJoe
SPEAKEASY
Today 8:48pm by PlaydateWithFire
COMPETITIONS
Today 7:49pm by Jade-Pandora
COMPETITIONS
Today 7:39pm by Brando
COMPETITIONS
Today 6:42pm by hgnichols