A taste and I swoon,
Your tears as debris on my tongue.
With stigmas of bane perverting our eyes,
My eyeless fingers wiped through your dahlia lips,
And offered marriage to the color of your universe.
Our Siamese brains hook hands, braiding their broken fingers.
We stomach the venomous shots of sangria,
Together.
Like Peter Pan and his Neverland,
We graze the plague-ridden shackles of adulthood,
And vomit guts of bravery.
Our veins are crayon-colored.
Your romantic writing still lingers as jasmine sighs,
Rooted as a green sapling to the voice of the past.
Your ales of creamy words melt past my honeycomb cells,
We stand as bleached damsels in a world of red.
Our limbs link in sweet distortion,
And our arteries pool the same scarlet.
Blood sisters, licking at each other's wounds.
It seems that the vast ocean sky,
Sailed you to a home with me.
Author notes
For Felicia Devine
Dead-on Critiques
Comments
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Rich, Complex, Impenetrable
There is simply too much to say. Your diction is so unique and uncharted this poem feels completely fresh and unconventionally beautiful. This same unique diction gives us the feeling of things only "blood sisters" would share and understand; that is to say, this is in no way mass produced, yet tailored perhaps for a certain person that shares these same feelings and thoughts, as passers by look on in amazement and stark ignorance. The language here is so incredibly thick that one would need to literally take apart every phrase, stanza, and sentence to dissect every word in its deepest connotation to even get a glimpse of what is really happening behind the lines here. I don't think even a lifetime would allow such an analysis.
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I love this. *Nods*
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