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flesh and sandpaper
by Rachelle Howeyour skin is made of tactile.
your hands are tarnished floorboards.
i laid you in shingles;
engraved your hair,
eyes, and lips in mahogany.
(the cracks spoke volumes,
of nights we'd argue and
lay together, discontent.)
you were dormant for a while.
i hadn't worked on you,
my oldest and dearest project,
since the prophets came.
but when i left,
you remained,
dusty, and unswept.
(when i walked away,
my footprints
were the loudest.) 12/30/2003 Author's Note: paul. this is his fault. and damn writer's block. damn it to hell.
Posted on 12/30/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 12/31/03 at 04:31 PM Love the dust imagery in this one. It gave it an antique feeling and a depth. Great verse. |
| Posted by Don Coffman on 01/04/04 at 08:46 PM I'm gonna sulk and not talk to you anymore if you keep calling quite acceptable stuff like this a writer's block. *sniff*
Saying that your imagery is so exquisite probably makes me sound like a broken record, but tis still true. I'm not sure what to make of the first line. On one hand it's an interesting way of expressing the sensation of touch, but on the other hand it's odd with having an adjective there (or maybe I'm forgetting a noun usage for that word, feh). But it's really a nifty poem, classic R.H. :D |
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