Bossa Nova Blues by Betania TeschBrush drums equal sadness
and lack of memory
on the backs of young girls
when you spin in soft circles
with your tongue on me
and I think to myself
please stop for fear of...
me.
Please be afraid of this
tangle of what I have become
because tomorrow holds nothing
and tonight holds less.
The saxophone drones gently
while the boys click their heels
together three times and say
there's no place like
l o s t
and you and I are there,
separatly wandering
through these thoughts of serenity
never quite tangible.
Cigar voices sing to you,
eyes closed and forgetting
this night of nothingness.
I am vacant
and I can tell by your fingertips
you are, too.
But you dance like you might be filled
if I could think of the right word,
if I could think of any word
to take you into my chest and keep you.
But I am much too empty.
10/28/2001 Posted on 10/28/2001 Copyright © 2025 Betania Tesch
Member Comments on this Poem |
Posted by Oscar Martínez on 02/16/03 at 06:07 AM Erotico, como el nacer de la palabra |
Posted by Agnes Eva on 05/22/03 at 10:53 PM love the smooth blending of sounds to feelings in this... the brushes translated to tongue, clicking further from the comfort-full zone... |
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