1
i opened my eyes underneath the water of you,
and there was a sharp hint of tears
like you've heard, salivating and dripping
on the lips of all the heavy poets you held
before.

under the dry writer's hands that have
dipped and dug into the guts of so many
live things, i have been discovering
the pores and blemishes hiding around
cheekbones.

when i lean up from sleeping on elbows,
my torso is slinking back, heavy on
the mattress. i know i feel so many
pairs of hands suggesting my body into
crescents.

my thoughts whirlpool into corners, collect
together in the words that tell you something
loud and sorry: you have never been loved
like this. and i will wring them out, drape
them.

2
you think your fingers brush lips
and pull ribs into resting;
i know those stained red eyes
and midnight breath in my hair.

will you ask me if i felt the heat
of her when she looked up at you?
do i see the appeal of being
a real victim of love? could i ever?

shut my heaving lungs behind glass,
i am going up on this, decorated
with the honor in badges slung
from my nape. tucked by my chin --

disappointed in your control, your mouth.
a tongue that traces my body
and promises warm ideas,
days that end in black loved nights.

3
my arm opens up under the sun
where breeze and arrowhead rays
burrow between the blonde hair.
i pretend you stare at me as i look away.

firm vinyl rings between these fingers.
and i watch the blue spread
into speed and black. your sun hands
beat our music into non-committal slacks.

there are connections between the quiet
words you think in the blankets
underneath us, and the softer promises
you make behind my companion ears.

i will tell myself what is working so well,
that these are all secrets inside me
and they are finally leaking through,
in your thoughtful sleepy whispers,

out of your midday explanations.

02/25/2007

Author's Note: i originally posted this poem as a single piece (the first in the set.) i wrote two more tonight and have decided to let this become a series of three. i'm thinking either one poem - three parts, or three poems in a series. i'm not sure, yet.

Posted on 02/26/2007
Copyright © 2024 Meghan Helmich