| |
Bottle
The neck, long and lean, feels
Fizzing, fuzzing emotions
Ready to pop
And spew and sizzle and swim
Soaking the skin, sticky
Someone lost the lid
A long time ago
Once the liquid spills out
The empty hallow
Transforms into a transport vessel
For a message
Of hope, love, longing
Or of rescue, release
On the top shelf
She keeps her collection
Of colored glass
Gathering dust
Shaped like violins or hour glasses
Did they hold whiskey or rum?
She bites her lip
Until she bleeds
But she never cries
I do
Poete maudit
accursed Poet
|