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I have been training.
Practicing my aim, sharpening my nails,
preparing for the dive below the surface
of day trips and
bargains in the treasure bin.
I plan to scratch through the gloss,
down beneath the patina
and taste the salt
from your sweat baked into the clay,
to identify this sculpture
by your finger print traces
and secret signatures between her thighs.
Come, sneak under the sleek spray of acrylic,
waterproof, we will not dissolve in the weather
no matter what it drops down.
OR FIND A PIECE OF PAPER TO SCRIBBLE ON
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 34,500 poems.
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The choice of words in this rendering is almost mystical giving this a surreal feeling.
This is all woman, about women, by a woman. Whether metaphorically or in real life behavior, this is a vision of woman unleashed ~ they're not such soft creatures, are they now?