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Poll
This is not a poll
I am not concerned with your opinions 11%
Your vote does not matter 0%
I'm sorry if this offends you 22%
But it's the truth 33%
Have a nice day 33%

Votes: 9

 Blue

 Author:  Topic:  Posted:
Sep 16, 2001
 Comments:
A poem by Logan, Utah's very own May Swenson.
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Girlfriend is better
Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white
nape boy-wide. Glinting hairs
shoot back of your ears' Rose
that tongues like to feel
the maze of, slip into the funnel,
tell a thunder-whisper to.
When I kiss, your eyes' straight
lashes down crisp go like doll's
blond straws. Glazed iris Roses,
your lids unclose to Blue-ringed
targets, their dark sheen-spokes
almost green. I sink in Blue-
black Rose-heart holes until you
blink. Pink lips, the serrate
folds taste smooth, and Rosehip-
round, the center bud I suck.
I milknip your two Blue-skeined
blown Rose beauties, too, to sniff
their berries' blood, up stiff
pink tips. You're white in
patches, only mostly Rose,
buckskin and saltly, speckled
like a sky. I love your spots,
your white neck, Rose, your hair's
wild straw splash, silk spools
for your ears. But where white
spouts out, spills on your brow
to clear eyepools, wheel shafts
of light, Rose, you are Blue.



Cool (5.00 / 2) (#1)
by zikzak on Mon Sep 17th, 2001 at 02:05:15 AM PST
It must be open mic night at the coffee house. I'll bring the bongos.


 
Is that a sestina I see before me? (none / 0) (#2)
by chloedancer on Mon Sep 17th, 2001 at 07:56:05 AM PST
You never cease to amaze me, Shoeboy. It's a feast for the senses, utterly gorgeous.


 

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