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#language #locks #lotus #poem #poetry #mithuna
Published: 2018-07-10 00:26:08 +0000 UTC; Views: 226; Favourites: 6; Downloads: 0
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Description
The locks don’t latchbehind you as you leave;
four keys, three doors, one room,
a wardrobe,
a bike lock.
The ease of the fist-sized blossoms,
(Dad’s fist, not mine),
beneath the bridge and
well above the surface of the water
are the difference in drive between
eleven time zones of jetlag
stretched tight across three months
and a language barrier.
The perforations in the
prescription blister packs
section away days;
I punch through the foil
to cross them off.
Consonants tangle in my mouth,
dead lotus necks braiding
beneath a bridge.
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Comments: 2
salshep [2018-07-13 03:16:28 +0000 UTC]
This is pretty polished poem, I can't pick anything that stands out as being in need of repair.
'fist-sized blossoms' is a good image, very evocative.
👍: 0 ⏩: 1
ClamShellHeart In reply to salshep [2018-07-16 06:37:00 +0000 UTC]
thank you for looking, i always love critique
thanks very much for the nice words also
👍: 0 ⏩: 0








