|
Distaste of honey
by Laura DoomHaving no idea
what day it is, or was
my closet friends could rest
assured that I would leak,
much as lovers do,
at the prospect of a blind date.
In the smokeless glare
I can see her clearly, dressed in pink.
Irritation scratches cones;
the unwrapped hue
that dissociates me
from early-night complexion
and fresh-breath lungs,
violates my nightshade.
The dirtwhite heat of inflammation
turns nest to nettle;
hair as smooth as slik
spreads disease in ribbons;
and her skin, like velcro
catches coarseness by the ounce.
I know all there is to know
before she opens her petty mouth.
And after the pseudosonics --
I crave solicitude in deafness.
Defaced, she wafts
perfection of repulsion...
How did they come
to unearth my cacophilia? 01/16/2010 Posted on 01/16/2010
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michael Smith on 01/16/10 at 09:43 PM A very interesting twist there at the end, but, we shan't be surprised, for, when in your poetic grasp, even ugliness is made beautiful.
|
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 01/17/10 at 05:12 PM I love this.Much to ponder within the ambiguous revelations contained in each of the lines.I can see the descriptions fitting many people I have known and yes, I can see where others may have viewed me through these glasses, as well. I know the word "cacophony" and its harsh sounds...I speculate you have created a new word based on this one for this described "disorder". Every time I reread this, I see something else, something new yet subtle. You are brilliant. |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 01/17/10 at 05:39 PM very sticky bit of wordplay here - I could go on and on. and its my first encounter with "cacophilia". I think the speaker shines brighter than the subject of this disdainful portrait. |
|
