PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I spilled citrus and acids onto the floors,

rose with the aroma as memories burned,

and rapped my head on the white of the ceiling.

I'd missed a portrait, hanging above the door,

spared from the razing by a prominence earned...

And saw you, your face and eyes, through the peeling.

As my conscience collapsed, clawing at its throat,

and the various stems and synapses wept,

I came to descend and take hold of your frame.

But it held fast to the wall by some remote

affection it felt for where it had been kept;

sat in the light of our extinguishing flame.

The fumes licked my cheek just as sinuses cleared,

providing one clear line of escape before

all activity drowned in corrosive drip,

but from that slip I could not emerge, for fear

that your image would be set upon and gored

by the hungry, liquid maw; seeping by inch.

There I remained grounded and clung like a fool

to your marred visage. You, who could not be mine

and never would, within these confines of time.

And so I curled and melted like wax in wool,

lead to the fire to retrieve the sublime:

your sweet interlude, still so wholly divine.