Everything we touch tonight
burns with cold; our hands, our faces, the chains on the swings.
Everything we see glitters, is filmed with ice; the trees, the pavement.
I let you kiss me, because you want to.
I would let you go further if there was somewhere to go.
You try, and fail, to find an inch of skin, a tiny bit of warmth,
an indication that I am more than allowing.
But tonight there is no warmth for you...not even the cocktail of
alchohol, an inch from each bottle, or a lungful of illicit smoke,
can thaw me.
It took too long to explain
what a bedsit is, who Blondie was, or what Mediterranean means,
to even attempt loneliness, comfort or no strings.
Easier then to leave you there, starry-eyed, high on hope.
Tonight my hands are too cold to hold onto anything.
Comments
insertponceyfre... | December 3, 2010 - 18:43
I love the ambiguity towards the end of this shoe
barryj1 | December 3, 2010 - 19:50
This one, like one of e. e. cummings' wisdom-packed musings, has to be read/savored a dozen times to get the full impact.
shoe | December 3, 2010 - 20:05
Thank you so much insert, I'm really pleased you like it.
shoe | December 3, 2010 - 20:07
Gosh... Barryj1, I am complimented to the utmost, I love cummings and am rather chuffed this makes you think of him.
SundaysChild | December 3, 2010 - 22:18
Excellent poem, shoe- well done, very much enjoyed. x
rjnewlyn | December 3, 2010 - 22:43
I liked the penultimate stanza particularly - takes the poem in an interestingly enigmatic and original direction.
Rob
Beeme | December 4, 2010 - 15:35
I enjoyed greatly- I love everything about this poem, the last line particularly. :-) I feel it's one of the best poems I've ever read.
Beeme xx
shoe | December 4, 2010 - 17:54
Thank you so much SundaysChild, I really appreciate that.
Hi Rob, That bit is actually true although in a very different context, glad you liked it.
Beeme, Thank you so, so much, a comment like that from you is praise indeed, I'm really pleased you like it.