Published April 2, 2011
I
may twist my
hands as gracefully as a dove
in flight;
corroded
like the summer cliffs in Arizona.
Breathe in the air,
breathe out the sweet toxins
we pushed from our bodies like sweat
from the brow of your mother
just before she knew you
are a
monsterthiefrabbi. And I--
I must be dashing, darling,
because my wrists,
they are so fragile,
so weak, tender like fresh-cut
venison from the bone, and I
cannot bear the carmine
beatbeatbeat of your transient affections.
Snap, snap, snap like fingers in the fog.
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137,545 Literary Works • 672,042 Reviews
Love it. I do. But what in the world is it about?
Great description! Don't take this in the wrong way, but I didn't get the meaning... You may want to elaborate! It did have very good vivid imagery!
Hi!
I love your tone in this piece. It just sounds really good when I read it in my head. You use some really good description an imagery, and... I don't really have anything to criticise, but it's always useful to know what you're doing right, right? Right.