A collector bought my name from your lips
And wrapped it in a drop of rain
Like a ship in a bottle.
I published his crime in a book of poetry,
Which only emboldened him--
He then stole the softness of your hair from my fingertips.
I had him brought before a judge
On a day when the sun fell through the sky like a coin through a slot--
The judge said she was sick of testimony and contention
And declared a carnival.
I was the wheel, both lofty and low.
The collector was time.
And you,
You were the girl who laughed from a thousand mirrors,
Shook her hair,
And never spoke my name again.
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Ih, this is sad even for me, you
ReplyDeletewrite to poignantly besutiful
Shayshay, I want you to get and
keep the ultimaste lover, as I
do for myself.
What imagery! This is masterful, Fireblossom.
ReplyDeleteAh, not the longed for ending.. but the beauty is in the vision of what might have been.
ReplyDeleteI love your witchy Fireblossom.
Those betrayals written in so few words.. I think when we are betrayed we mostly rage in silence.
ReplyDeletelovely. a momentary escape.
ReplyDeletegracias
Sad, bittersweet, because there's always a sweetness to what we have lost, and full of a heart-language that is untranslatable, but clear as morning light--my favorite lines are
ReplyDelete"I was the wheel,both lofty and low/
the collector was time..." ain't that the truth.
Goosebumps...and I love when that happens.
ReplyDeleteI was the wheel. Stuck at the top, maybe. Love this.
ReplyDeletethe last stanza is hauntingly reflective.
ReplyDeletethe play on words in this piece is superb.
oh, and the little witch to the right, she's pretty cute! :)