December 10, 2011

Poetry Scribble: More Poetry!

Started with the first two lines as a writing prompt, and this is where it went. No idea who it’s about or who the character speaking is. But that’s why it’s a draft, right?


You’re more than just
a fucked up piece of ass
sliced and preserved
for convenient serving.
No, the plating counts,
your movement,
slow brush of fingers
through exhaled breath,
scattering it across
bruised skin.
You move your chest,
inward and out,
in quick, heavy action.
You view like a desperate photographer
about to miss the moment.
You present yourself this way,
hurt, horny, hopeful
that someone will deem you relevant,
and I am tired of the act.
I can hear the click of tiny gears
deep inside your plan,
wound and working.
I can feel the way you’re always there
just when,
the small opening of weakness
I require for recharging,
and never else.
Setting the stage for a performance
normally takes stagehands
bustling about
swinging hammers.
You’ve done it alone,
like always.
You’re more.

So am I.

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