So this is an old poem of mine that I discovered recently while revisiting a now defunct blog of mine. When I wrote this, I was going through a "O, i love T.S. Eliot" phase, and I had written this in absolute awe of the man. Cut to present, I've tweaked the original a bit. Hope it reads better, for it is now in my eyes, more complete.
*
Winter mornings:
The stale smell of cigarette
and sky bruised purple.
I muffle, biting into your skin.
The stale smell of cigarette
and sky bruised purple.
I muffle, biting into your skin.
The morning groans
stretching its arms
across the sleepy city
Its breath pressing against filthy windows
and empty streets—
waking up in its own waking
to a handful of illicit love affairs
Promises crawl against one’s bare back
scratching against the skin like broken porcelain
searching for answers.
Time comes undone
like paint peeling off the walls
fragmenting from a whole
slipping into dark, nameless corners
and beautiful misery.
Outside,
the streets linger on
walking, swerving, smoking, mulling
running, hiding, halting, waiting.
the streets linger on
walking, swerving, smoking, mulling
running, hiding, halting, waiting.
They whisper tales
of sinful nights
that walked
dressed in handsome winter coats
and big black hats
knocking on doors
waiting for someone
to welcome them in
of sinful nights
that walked
dressed in handsome winter coats
and big black hats
knocking on doors
waiting for someone
to welcome them in
When they leave
Emptiness slithers inside bedrooms
through filthy windows
left half-open
Emptiness slithers inside bedrooms
through filthy windows
left half-open
She reeks of pity
and stale cigarettes.
She moves
across crumpled bed sheets
and coils around my neck
I muffle, biting into her skin
waiting to come undone.
***
waiting to come undone.
***
{poem, eliot, dreams, emptiness, love, note from a forgotten diary, heartaches, memory}
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