| |
I have a Muse.
"they make your lungs bleed, but they smell like christmas,"
she said between puffs
of djarum blacks,
and i nodded because
they tasted like all the reasons
i wish i were a poet,
sitting on the edge of a philosopher's table,
sipping smirnoff,
while emerson spoke of circles,
and the library ghosts picked up strands of her hair,
placing them across her face
like a cool night breeze could never do
with such staggering perfection.
i didn't know how to say
"don't ever let this end," or
"let's stay like this until tonight runs like mercury
from overflowing pages
filling volumes with words only we could understand."
instead, i stubbed my smoldering poetry
against jesus' feet
and lit new inspiration
from the end of her ash-dangling cigarette.
|
| | Posted 10/14/2007 4:13 AM - 27 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
- recommend
  - recs0
- share
- email
 - sent0
|
