The perfect excuse;
long after rays of the sun melt
in its audacity seeks to caress the skin ever so softly,
early black is sultry, salted caramel
for something only lovers can comprehend—
his lips are copper wire,
green sprouts that bring a desert to bloom, every word,
every phrase, every sentence— I know not
how he manages to read lines and the spaces in between;
in warmer breezes his are the ones that are finer
than silk, smoother than water itself; is it so wrong
to admire from up close?
And though taste of life be bitter at times,
what lies beneath the shadows can’t hurt us
if we choose
to hold hands with amber sun— come,
lay your voice prints and set a record of sorts,
observe a part of me measuring sighs in both flesh
citing constantly “love them loud, love them quietly,”
there is a longing that binds us together.
I like to think I am more than inconsequential,
a random, forgettable moment in his electric blue existence—
good enough for him to give himself to me completely.
His fingertips, delicate and effective
as paint brushes
sift through sediments of all things unsaid; so many songs
I hear remind me of him,
knuckles gliding slowly along my cheekbone
of bare streets stripped of traffic
and noise; there must be a conspiracy in the airwaves—
Stay a little longer, comrade mine,
so that I may whisper my views to you, as we sit in separate rooms,
in different places with eyes lowered;
I am hating this wantonness,
this improbability of hands reaching gently through the walls
I have brought down— no doubt, he would look divine
in my darkness.
Go on, I love that you see my expression and cannot help but smile.
it’s beckoning a poem from the depths that should be enough,
His lips are copper wire.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Poem inspired by the title of Jean Toomer’s poetic masterpiece,“Her lips are copper wire.” 💝
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Posted for Open Link LIVE #284 @ dVerse Poets Pub