There are places on your skin that look exactly like the sky. Hickeys in the...– Erika Bleyl
My eye lids are window shield wipers. Puddles avalanche along cheek bones carving roads into my mouth.
Tangled in flesh and skin, your ghost left your body with the scent of undressing. A phantom billowing from elegant gown.
Last night I massaged the sky’s shoulder blades. This morning it moaned in the breath of sunrise.
Short Poem 10/11/11
We are tightrope walkers spilling voicemails along the flesh of telephone poles with wires hanging loose like jump ropes Our voice boxes trapeze swingers that meet in the middle of interstate lines We have learned to string nets into our mouths and catch each other with a single hello Levitation dangles from our lips like gravity
The fog is a wedding gown. There is a mist of silk cascading down cement aisles, street lamps cradled like church bells.
magixmarkers asked: Hey I was wondering if you will be real easing a new poem soon. I find your work really inspiring