Home | ME/CFS | Poems | Photos | Futures | About me | Links | Search | Contact me |
New Poems |
Abstract |
People |
Love |
Nature |
Other |
The Jet Black Girl A bubble of hotness Shimmering jet hair Skin like scented paper Breaks through the door It shouts prayers (Or perhaps she swears) This stifling greyness Heavy as forevers I donate a stare A shy, sadder shrug Worms its empty way Into untouched corners She wears, unknown, A bright cocoon Of flowers and gold And too many heartbeats My eyes rove through She is perfume like lust Touch like the sharpest surf Sound like the bassest moan So deep-throated it dies I'm unsure if her feet Explode softly behind her Or if it is just me If it is simply the thud As my hope hits the glass Where she waits. She goes. Life resumes its breath In some uptown-downtown A close gaze with kisses Seduces a faithful moth With the heat of a dance Yet though the eager night Showers her with light Quietly, safely at home She weeps life to sleep © David Incoll 2001 |
||
Back to People Poems index |
Home | | | Search | | | ME/CFS | | | Poems | | | Photos | | | Futures | | | About me | | | Links | | | Contact | ||
Copyright by David Incoll 2001 |