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Forum Home » High Critique » Wishbone and a gaunt feeling, undone

For poets who want unrestricted constructive criticism. This is NOT a vanity workshop. If you do not want your poem seriously critiqued, do not post here. Constructive criticism only. PLEASE Only Post One Poem a Day!!!
12/2/2015 9:00:24 AM

K.M North
Posts: 97
I loved her
I loved her like the way the sun touches your skin
on the coldest morning you can remember
she was beautiful
the kind of beautiful
that made violent men weep


we shared a passion for
long stories with short endings
and fast songs with slow beginnings


she hung on to the bedpost
while I twirled around to Miles Davis
my fingers traced a melody only I could see
and in the mirror of that one room apartment
she wore only a t-shirt
that was supposed to be only for me


the floor boards creaked
with each step
and sometimes if the volume went too high
the walls would shake a bit
floor to ceiling windows
a swan divers late night dream
we hung out of them sometimes
if the rain was coming and we were
sick of the heat


it's true
that I loved her
loved her like fire and like faith
I worshiped every flaw she had
and knelt at her pale white feet


she had beauty
but there are no words to do it justice
there is nothing as poetic
as watching her lay in bed as the sun greeted her for a new day
we drew pictures of each other
and tossed them to the floor
walking on charcoal and body parts
without a care in the world


it's true I loved her
and possibly she loved me
but we both knew that
money always ran out
and by morning she'd leave
there were always bigger pockets
and always newer beds
but on nights that she was mine
I'd sell my soul to the devil
because I had already seen heaven
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