Another Cup of Hormones, Please

Her skirt,
A placid curtain
Close the doors on memories
Torture, but don't kill,
The secrets

Anime lips
Form a crescent remark
On taste.
Mingle perspiration and
Lipgloss

Her phone
A material mindset
More fingers for her hand
Delete
Less to recall
Less to remorse

Textured folds
Hair that rides the sunlight
A wary backdrop for your face
A vacant expression
Silent eyes
Home alone
Where the doorbell doesn't ring.

Anxious fingers
Stroke satire skin
Seventeen years old
And aging
So I am as filthy on the outside
As on the in.

We watch her,
Faded description
As cliche
As the sun and moon
We have answers
And wings

Guarded spirit
Nature rests on frail shoulders
Fantasies flicker
Behind rusted hinges
And the doorbell doesn't ring.
--April 2005

Posted by Florence on Thursday, June 15, 2006 at 6:53 PM | Permalink