Milk wishes and Forged love letters
by Angela Stevens
And when you awake
you'll deny that:
In my green veined rapture,
I had you like the milk
of a stem.
When we walked in crisp snow
and forged love letters with
Spoke to one another in soft cryptic tongues
even if our momentary dream fades,
the glossy words will linger like a
relentless bell chime, a fixed precious metal.
The organ that memories are birthed from;
my heart is an internal scab
and never was it rich enough to claim the title of organ.
Author's Note: Tomorrow, none of this will have happened.
Posted on 08/18/2011
Copyright © 2020 Angela Stevens
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 08/19/11 at 04:47 AM|
This certainly reads like some kind of frantic, midday fever dream. It's fantastic stuff.
|Posted by Jody Pratt on 01/09/12 at 11:00 PM|
Top ratings. Gabriel described this well in his comment. Like a single-word line within this piece, I am "captured."
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/13/12 at 04:12 PM|
Loved the relentless bell chime and the "my heart is an internal scab".