poetry critical : poem

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postulation

papermoon

first looks and suppositions, i hardly noticed	1
the beginning, a blur of “hellos” and “nicetomeetyous”	2
flew past in time and left us in the middle.	3

we disrupted the order of things, you and i. my theories on	4
lightning, the way stars fight to shine	5
in the middle of a storm, or the way hands fit	6
between bone and skin. i thought I knew things, thought	7
i spoke the language of the world, but every thing	8
was foreign outside the reaches of your glow.	9

there was more to you, more to me	10
more to us, as natural as spring	11
when it leaves winter behind. i climbed	12
into those eyes and made a home, not yet	13
knowing how delicate they were, how much	14
they saw or knew, or how they would sound.	15

hands lost in tangles, pulling you near	16
to analyze every feature, every breath,	17
every angle- a geometric shock, addition of pulse	18
subtraction of platonic	19

i learned to bloom the flowers, plough	20
that rough ground, as to tread ever so	21
slightly until all that was left was the smooth	22
notion of soil and supplication, ready for harvest	23
i gathered you up, petal by petal, i brought	24
you to my mouth, watering you with wet love	25
as i tasted your colours, the scent of your secrets	26

a bruised fruit, left behind because it’s too soft	27
but soft is what i wanted, the warmth and heat of	28
dizzy conviction, forbidden desire, you opened	29
up my veins and coloured them red, red mixed	30
with red, lips pouring forth word blankets	31
of safety when the rain comes.	32

but the middle turned to end and winter wants a place	33
back in time. the petals i saved, stored up	34
in the caverns of my glass chest, i scatter now	35
down aisles and groves, and homes next door.	36
i tell them to watch their steps, to see what lies	37
in front of them but a blue wind has taken you now.	38
a storm is coming from the distance, i hope	39
it gives you life again, but for me it’s just a darkness.	40

with dry hands, claiming nothing but	41
faint lines of colour residue, i turn to leave	42
left only with theories growing vines over memory	43
for it's all just postulation, jumbled communication	44
of hello.	45
nice to meet you.	46

08/27/08

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