imprints of him

by Chanson

Published September 20, 2005

a tug of the tie, two fingers pulling
cranberry-red silk loose,
a habitual toss of your head
making a fold of hair fall into your eyes
open collar revealing soft skin.

leaning against white doorframes,
elbow looking sore from pressure,
the flood of warmth through my body
every time i make you smile,
the tight t-shirt tugging against your chest.

stained sofa, arm loose across
a beer mark resembling spain,
watching your fingers pluck guitar strings,
tips raw from the contact,
eyes bright with concentration,
body relaxed with enjoyment.

beer scented breaths against my cheek,
arm laced across my body,
finger hesitantly tracing circles
on the small of my back,
legs slotted against mine.

moments merge together,
leaving an imprint of blue eyes,
raw skin, soft smiles
and the rythym of your heart
beating against my shoulder blade.

Comments & reviews · 4
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Firestarter
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Firestarter commented Comment · Sep 22, 2005

It was almost too descriptive. Like you just stuck a load of celever premodifiers before some nouns ("cranberry-red silk", "white doorframes") and in the end it didn't really appeal to me, the reader, at all.

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yoha_ahoy
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yoha_ahoy commented Comment · Sep 20, 2005

I agree. It's quite a beautiful poem. Great imagery as every one else has said. But the one thing I have to say that bugged, me was that there was no capitalization. I mean, you could have at least capitalized "Spain." But yes, very wonderful.

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xanthan gum
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xanthan gum commented Comment · Sep 20, 2005

This...wow. The imagery is beautiful. In a stabbing attempt at constructive critizism, I could say that you could try to make your point clearer, but this is pretty weak... Your point is beautifully clear and it's just, simply, beautfiul.

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Sophie
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Sophie commented Comment · Sep 20, 2005

Woah... Hmm well, can;t think of any constructive critism



It is only a novel... or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language
— Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey