- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Fairy Tale
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Click hereGreen bench. Summer day
paints patterns, spotlights words
between my hands.
Green bench. Summer day
tickles hair against my cheek,
impatient hand brushes back.
An oak branch taps my shoulder,
whispers~
Turn the page.
It’s lost on me,
the eight or ten years of me.
Years of bony knees
folded tight against my chest,
faded shirt years, unaware
of bare toes, ladybugs,
or how my skin luxuriates
along the dusty wood.
Green bench. Summer day
recedes into a throne.
An ancient lonely emperor
bids a fluting nightingale
pray flee its guilded nest,
fey huntress lifts a golden apple
to her lips, tin soldier melts,
and match girl burns ice bright.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozabout 16 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,500 poems.
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tungtied2uover 19 years agoIt?s lost on me,
the eight or ten years of me.
Years of bony knees
folded tight against my chest,
faded shirt years, unaware
of bare toes, ladybugs,
or how my skin luxuriates
along the dusty wood.
I don't think it was lost on you, or for that matter anyone who reads this poem. It seeped in and saturated you. Woman, you perspire poetry. Thanks for sweatin the oldies. :)
