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Fissure

by Leslie Ann Eisenberg

I 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 won’t 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

I’m an upside-down cake soon to rot
Tell me it’s 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,
I’ll 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

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/16/05 at 04:38 AM

Wow. What can one say about this poem, that would only slice mere atoms from its all encompassing romance, desire, fear, hope...

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