- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Embroodery
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Click hereIt sunk in at 45 degrees
warm, unwittingly solid,
9 mils of sword for
Gordian nerves.
It pushed past numb flesh
to the centre of your wince,
a flicker in unwavering pride.
Saltine and catalyst,
a recipe for fever pitch,
salvation in a syringe.
You smiled up at concern,
wearily brushed the clench
out of my fist, kissed me
with a blink, and faded
before pain raced up
to sound the alarm
a second too late to win,
they said.
You don't remember this,
nor should you have to.
It's enough that I do.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozover 16 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,000 poems.
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My Erotic Trailabout 18 years agoI caught hints of weaving but unsure if that is the main topic in this poem? I read your write <grin
Anonymousabout 18 years agoI had to read it around 4 times to get my interpretation straight--an indication more of my tiredness than your poetry.
There's a good tension in the poem between nervousness and succumbing. I especially liked this strophe:
You smiled up at concern,
wearily brushed the clench
out of my fist, kissed me
with a blink, and faded
And do you mean "saline"? You said "saltine," but I don't think you want cracker crumbs in your syringe. :D
