Fissure by Leslie Ann EisenbergI taste you under the covers like a warm waking dream
tinted with the tickle trace of your fingers
brushing my back in honeyed strokes,
cotton-candy lips feed me whipped-cream kisses,
your sea-eyes swelled in fervor melt me to puddles
Destiny would see us side by side
stroking sable brushes onto tea-stained walls
My studio in turquoise and chocolate,
your office in butter-cream suede aside burgundy bookshelves,
cinnamon eggnog steaming our kitchen under dancing crimson daisies
But the memory of your soothing caress wont quiet
the hurricane roosting in my dark
when the bed is empty and you have gone home
Why breathe this air?
Walls dry and crack and bleed to beige,
I fumble down my lonely corridor,
heart scattered to the closing walls in
dime-store paint spatters of high gloss hooker-red
Eyes to the knotted shag, I vacuum til the drumbeat strangles
You come in the morning and stroke my forehead while
I feign sleep in velvet wine bottles, lids tight
You cannot reach me inside this starless ceiling of soot
Im an upside-down cake soon to rot
Tell me its not too late to learn reverse
Give me the molasses timbre of your voice,
tuck every stray worry in its place
Fill me with the flavor of devotion and
my black thoughts will fall, sand through sieve
Feed me spoons of honey from your tongue,
Rub the milky white paint of your work-shirt into my breasts,
Ill be a kitten swimming in vanilla custard
Make your kiss my waking life
The stroke of your tender gaze blooms back my breath
Hang your coat in my hallway and close the door
Lay your hands across my heart and tuck me in
On my coldest nights, make the hearth-fire your chest,
where I lay my head to rest 11/13/2005 Posted on 11/13/2005 Copyright © 2025 Leslie Ann Eisenberg
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