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the prophet speaks in riddles

by Aaron Blair

the tip of his tongue is a knife
covered with blood, the instrument
of my being opened, so that when
my deadbeat heart throbs its quick
morse code out into the still air,
he eats the vibrations, leaving me
with no choice but to be silent.

the prophet speaks in riddles
because he thinks i understand,
as though my mind could open
and then close, like a spider's
trap door, a predator eating words,
when really, i gasp and gulp, a fish.

he comes so close, his breath
spreading life across gray skin,
a pink flood eroding away the cold.
this is living, this first time, but
i don't know what i'll do because
he closes the hole and says, get up
and learn how to be alive on your own.

11/10/2003

Author's Note: My relationship with my boyfriend, whose name is Rasool (Arabic for prophet), but sort of in poetic code.

Posted on 11/10/2003
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kristine Briese on 11/10/03 at 09:47 PM

Again, you've left me overwhelmed and speechless. Seeing that green arrow by your name makes the world a more tolerable place, despite the pain you express.

Posted by Christina Gleason on 11/11/03 at 04:03 AM

he's got a point, you know. hot title, by the way.

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