Plum Pit Speechless

Tue, 01/09/2018 - 18:45 -- gisris

ah, look at you.

you’re a plum pit to me,

a cratered seed of stability

amidst rotting flesh,

the nectar of bee stings

rolling off you

like water.

 

a fascinating crochet

of taj mahal-like masteries,

an inquiry

I’m dying to answer.

 

I own innumerable textbooks,

but they teach me nothing about you.

you’re a bachata of blush,

a shiver in the dog days of summer.

 

I want nothing but your words,

your kindest utterance…

your skull shaped like a birdbath,

cupped to hold secrets.

 

the disjointed Me,

peering through your windows,

aching to scratch your soul,

to suck the venom 

out of your snakebite.

 

your identity is in a wormhole somewhere,

locked in the paradoxes

of outer space.

which planet may I

retrieve it on?

 

whisperings of your desires,

I can only hear shreds of 

your heart,

mere beats in the scheme of

a rock-concert-slashout.

 

grimly hunched gravity

of the spine,

come to me

and tell me everything.

 

for once in documented

postmodernist history,

you’ve rendered a poet

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completely speechless.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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