Place my orphan heart
inside the jewels of your oceanic dress
every tide could just be bikini
may the last Wednesday wave
keep you wet forever
Where were you
when my spine was a crushed novella
awaiting the librarian delicate touch
to place me on her bookshelf?
How and why can I undress you
when clothes are a computer screen?
flick and turn your cursor to naked
this is how flesh turns into skin
I dream of bones falling out of pillows
and maybe, that is the closest we will
ever get to making love
Strangely brilliant.
I’ll settle for strangely beautiful. Thank you Peter. In poetry and cyber kindness. Rob
The tension between digital distance and primal yearning – between the “computer screen” and “bones falling out of pillows”
– is utterly captivating. The imagery is beautiful and sensual, a collision of technology and raw desire.
Where the hell did you sail from? Let’s board a pirate ship and plunder & plunder, until there is nothing left but words hand-scratched on the Titanic.
Written since the womb really (apologies – that sounds so fucking pretentious) but as the decades tumble, if I can touch such beautiful souls then let that be my linguistic epitaph. Rob – never ever call me Bob. Lol
Outstanding.