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Click hereyour soft shoulders roll fragile, fluttering
moth in the cold; i am wearing only
indifference to highway scars.
when clothes are gone,
what's important, in the dark?
not the nudity, not the skin
you call tired, not the veins,
the moles, the breasts
you're afraid i'll see.
it's this smile, sugar dusty
backroad driving straight
towards every herbgarden
i thought i'd left to my tail lights,
under jungle-gyms in the park,
freedom i didn't know from handcuffs.
soft, powdered snow,
you are so almost, such slight
fancy, thin streak of please
in the moonlight,
i've seen more than your body
scared back to sixteen
on a midnight mattress.
call these few wrinkles creases.
this skin, parchment; these veins, blue highways.
i will make you into a map
i have unfolded, to find us both back home.
I may be wrong, but I feel I have finally understood the significance of the numeral "35" in the title... Magical word choice and diction. You are among the best contemporary poets in America, in my slightly-less-than-humble opinion.
What so many women have needed to hear.Lovely, soft but powerful enough to make someone turn on the light and be proud to be read.
I don't give a rat's ass what you think of me, Punk (you can thank your buddy for that)
This is good. No further comment on the poem.
P.S. 'ave a bit of christmas cheer courtesy of your travlin' partner
This has such a softly romantic feel of the wise perspective of an older couple, looking at what's truly important.
You tie your subject and your metaphor so tightly together that I just wanna come along for the ride. Gorgeous emotions here.