Desire begins quietly:
like the smell of oranges after rain,
like a window left open in winter,
like something nameless pacing just outside the light.
Desire is:
a match struck under the tongue,
a glass of wine left breathing in the dark,
a hand hovering over a bruise,
the slow untying of gloves,
a wolf circling the same patch of snow,
perfume trapped inside an old coat,
a locked room with music behind it,
a train heard at midnight from miles away,
salt drying on bitten lips,
smoke curling from an unread letter,
the moon lowering itself into black water,
a knife polished until it reflects your face,
the moment before thunder admits itself,
the ache in a violin string before the bow,
a hunger elegant enough to call itself devotion.
And afterward—
the room still breathing around you,
candles collapsed into their own wax,
a single glove abandoned on the floor,
the window fogged with vanished mouths,
your name tasting different in your own mouth,
like something stolen gently from the dark.
Photo credits: Still life orange by Elena Katsyura, Pinterest
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Posted for Meeting the Bar: Unlock with Lists @dVerse Pub
8 Responses
Your list is one that readers are going to want to commit to memory ~~~ I already have. Cheers, Sanaa.
This desire, in itself, is almost enough to satisfy.
Such wonderful imagery. Sigh. 💙
I especially liked
“the moment before thunder admits itself,
the ache in a violin string before the bow,”
The glove made me think of Bridgerton. 😊
your name tasting different in your own mouth,
like something stolen gently from the dark.
Not just a satisfaction and a relief but more of being able to declare a triumph
from the regular inconveniences. Grand close Sanaa!
Hank
Luv this list poem, Sanaa
Much love
Stunning images, Sanaa. What an incredibly original and beautiful poem!!!!!
Sanaa fabulous imagery – love it 🥰
I love all the imagery of desire, and also the switch to afterwards which begs me asking if the desire was fulfilled or not…
Maybe it will be the same in both cases:
Giving in is guilt and being stoich build regrets.