His feet
soft from never
walking on anything
except my heart; I fall beneath
his feet.
.
His eyes
have burnt me up
alive; I am turned to
dust and swept away by his
lashes.
.
His hands
dissolved my stone
reshaped me; a waxen
toy that melts under his trailing
fingers.
.
His chest
invites my kiss -
shall I count his heartbeats
or the so scattered freckles with
my lips?
.
His ears
stick out a bit.
That's true; but who the hell
asked you? You'll never get to kiss
his ears.
If you liked this poem, you might like His Haibun.
Let me know what you thought in the comments!
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TheSpinstress
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress3 days ago in Poets
Comments (10)
I have skipped over the word Cinquain and never visited it before...so I googled it. It's not complicated at all. So thanks for making me finally look at this poetry form. But, what a lucky fellow 'his' is. He gets such a lovely ode. It is great when love sticks around.
Beautiful and evocative imagery! The intensity of emotions and the vivid descriptions make this piece truly captivating. Well done!
That last cinquain really made me laugh! You are really good at doing the bitter sweet of desire.
The first two stanzas hit me so hard! Loved your poem!
A nice live poem. Loved the last line!
Beautiful work! Clever and passionate.
Great work!
Great job! Every line invites a reader to continue reading.
Witty and wonderful! Loved the structure of this!
very neat poem, congratulations on your work