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On sheets crisp
and stainless
as an empty page,
we lie still
and silent,
you curled about
my body's arc,
two sleepy
apostrophes
drained of ink.


Daylight is our
author, writing
poems of love
in skin and sinew,
touch and taste,
moving limbs
like letters on
paper, bidden to
the rhythm of
her will.

Arms stretch and
stiffen, legs brush
and part and
meet again,
shaping ourselves
as Ts and Fs
and Cs and Ys,
colliding with each rasping
sigh, and merging
in haphazard
alphabets
of possibility.

Letters making words,
forming phrases,
filling deliciously endless
sentences, devoid
of useless meaning, stripped
of other tenses
but now, and
punctuated only
by a thousand
exquisite
exclamation marks.

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  • COMMENTS
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2 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousalmost 15 years ago
Beautiful Imagery

'Two sleepy apostrophe's drained of ink' is such a lovely metaphor I feel it should be used at the end of the poem, as the rest of the poem, while very good, does pale somewhat in comparison. Of course, I can see it doesn't fit at the end- sorry for the useless advice. A better title perhaps- Love Letters, Punctuation Partners, something that combines people and writing (So Write). But still a great poem and lovely read with some beautiful imagery. :-D

UnderYourSpellUnderYourSpellalmost 15 years ago
~

I really like the line "two sleepy apostrophes drained of ink" in fact I like the whole poem and it's metaphors