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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3348 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Five Years Lisa Megraw 1. the soft language of your body. Quiet, how our arms curl into each other and the night. My face nestled in the thin hollow between chest and shoulder. Like footfalls your sounds have circled me about the tinturn of your sleep, deeper and more tangible than wind against glass or wood. 2. Together we have filled rooms with words, read to each other from the books of our lives. Smoothed fingers over the necks of shadows, uncovered the spellings for illness, for death. We are new to feeling, and the colour love. I've heard it called vermillion, gold rush, tungsten, but I’ve spent too many nights, a soft shape worrying over you to know it's darker than that. 3. It was December when love first cried, became as afraid and jagged as the velvet tread of your brows. The scant scent of your skin tainted. Your face hung, a tidal moon remembering sunflowers cut in June: stars to melt over us. And l forgot how my bones would thin, my body lean into the wind, how there would be little to resist in me. 4. All l have left are roses. The ones we pressed. After your death l watched their mouths darken, their skin become unbearable. |
