More in The Personal Space of U668857
Teething
Your each plump cheek -
the red apple of my eye.
On edge and tetchy -
a flip-flop girner
snapping out of smiles.
At night the guy-ropes strain;
I have battened down love's hatches,
tholing your pain.
You are smaller than the hours
I pace in darkness.
My will is screwed up tight:
I feel the threads bite
against a shaft of iron light.
In the eye-tooth of the storm
decibels die to a sigh;
your fury limps on my arm.
the red apple of my eye.
On edge and tetchy -
a flip-flop girner
snapping out of smiles.
At night the guy-ropes strain;
I have battened down love's hatches,
tholing your pain.
You are smaller than the hours
I pace in darkness.
My will is screwed up tight:
I feel the threads bite
against a shaft of iron light.
In the eye-tooth of the storm
decibels die to a sigh;
your fury limps on my arm.
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- » Apr. 2008 (177 pages)
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