Wednesday, May 25, 2011

No comfort ~ Annie Kerr

There was no comfort in her,
just a thin promise
left unsealed
of some unknown need
meeting the rare curl of her lip,
the broken angles of her touch,
with rare words
always on the sly side of silent.

She was sandpaper to your cheek,
firelighter drawn as lipstick
to your wet mouth.
She was fuse
that you could never spark.
She was bad seed and venom
spilling out of a basket
useless for the task.

She held the apple you hungered to bite.
When she bowled it under
a mile long freight train
grinding between her track
and yours,
she waited
just to see
if you could resist.


Gordon Mason said...

What a powerful poem with vivid images! Bravo, Annie!

Sharmon Davidson said...

What a gorgeous image you make with your words! You are truly gifted, Annie.