- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Foreshore
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Click hereI called you up
on a blizzard highway
to fake infatuation
over questionable aether,
the handover from node to node
a faint buzz barely out of reach,
heading east.
You didn't mind,
or so you said,
it's been a while
and no blood shed,
no ash in your heart
and time to waste.
The road, the swirling cold
faded to a quiet April noon
over roobios and accepted regrets
on your balcony, your hands
folding napkins to make them forget
to hold mine, your lips shaping
words about nothing. Just the right
kind of nothing.
This is where we spend our days,
between tides, between bliss and the abyss,
missed opportunities and therapeutic napkins
forms the foreshore fabric
of getting by.
I'll call you up in April,
to remember a December blizzard drive,
a voice on a swirly reception
that didn't mind.
- COMMENTS
Esperanza_Hidalgoabout 13 years agonapkin folded, then
grab,
fondle,
kiss.
You are intriguing, and I want to take your brain out and play with it.
PoetGuyover 13 years agorather matching the narrator and his friend's relationship. Poet Guy had to look up the title, which is excellently apt, and "roobio's" which looked to him like it might be the name of some kind of disgustingly gummy candy. He was relieved to find it is (most likely) a kind of tea.
The distanced narrative is appropriate for the subject, almost (dare Poet Guy say) Bergmanesque.
He enjoyed this very much.
buttersover 13 years agobut what strikes me most, visually, is the imagery below and the sorrow it holds - it stays ... beyond the poem:
accepted regrets
on your balcony, your hands
folding napkins to make them forget
to hold mine, your lips shaping
words about nothing.
vrosej10over 13 years agoI personally liked it, enjoy the how vague it was, leaving gaps for the reader, like leaping across stepping stones of meaning.
