01-Dec-2000

I don't even know what to put here. It's original poetry--it can easily be interpreted as 1x?.

Personally, I wrote it because my blue-eyed blue turned out to be someone else's blue-eyed blue. And I'm bloody *angsty* about it. ;P
Although, the result is a little far removed from that...

I won't bother with disclaimers; it doesn't infringe on anything. But it's mine! Mine, mine, mine... ^^ As if someone would steal it. I'm greedy about poetry. And darn nervous about posting it, too.

Poem: An Army Of Him by Jay

a symphony from his fingers pauses over my skin,
down my sides, an army of him.

through the brutal chips of my eyes,
and the smoothroughness of his touch,
the reverence of skinonskin implies,
little ado about nothing, or nobody much.

he scrapes across the dip of bones,
a slice of iris like a bloom of blue,
breathe... motions to postpone,
his cardboard lover, stuck with glue.

and just the faintest little kiss,
wakes my body, shakes the sleep,
his lips part, he laughs at this:
strokes my cheek, pulls up the sheets.

his voice, like smoke rising--
or eyes, like dawn breaking--
and the utterly steady, unsurprising--
catch of his mouth, roll of his lips, tangled limbs aching...

sky peeking through the blinds,
it was barely morning when he arose,
and in the silence of the motel nine,
counted out the money, and put on his clothes.

minute tremors pause over my skin,
washing away an army of him.

The End

Deglamourized morning after. I know... too much e.e. cummings.

Jay