Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Confessions over milk-shake

Hold the wind at bay outside, there will be enough wind ruffling
the dirt off earth, of its laced seams-
picking out the stones and the grass grazing the last bits of morning away
before our eyes, squeezed in a corner of an old cafe

the smell of cigarettes will stitch itself
 to the corners where once we used to shop for abstracts
tied in with cheap bon-bons, This is how we sit
now, stomachs sore to be lined with milk

milk butters everything, makes the syllables I am about
to say softer. You ask a definite question of celebration
young love and older bodies, strange horses these devices
are from one another, these thoughts, those desires

inked in hand to hand, like sand to seawater
like my blush when I answer with a positive nod
your questioning to one of life's important milestones
you laugh at my sly eyes, avert yours and offer

a promise. An exchange from raw milk to milky chocolate
sweetness swims in my belly, same  you held for my niece
you ask again and I show you all that I wanted to
tell you everything I know while swilling my cup

with breath, if someone reads the oxygen
they will decode all that I have confessed
that the earth still spins the same both when we love and when we lose
but it feels faster when we say those words over a glass of milk.

No comments:

Post a Comment