Saturday, January 27, 2007

Colorless Days

In the lineup of old lovers,
he never appears,
yet he was the one who peeled back my skin,
slipped fingers beneath breastbone,
took heart into hand.
Odd, this disappearance, when a decade
of heartbeats had to thump past
before flesh closed and healed.
I wonder if his next love remembers.
Perhaps the one after that still carries his photo,
touches it surreptitiously when paying a bill.
Maybe those men who once slung our hearts
'round their necks, painted hieroglyphs
on our breasts with their tongues,
wake now in colorless rooms,
bewildered to find no woman beneath them.
Perhaps they remember a certain face,
a laugh...a sigh,
& dream of those days when their touch
still forged fingerprints into the hollows of our time.

9 comments:

Pris said...

Thanks, Ellen!

Pat Paulk said...

Your poem brings back to memory a 'hieroglyph", or two. Damned fine poem Pris!!

Pris said...

Thanks, Pat. Only one or two?? You're sure about that now:-)

gautami tripathy said...

You did a great job, pris!

Pris said...

Thanks!

mouse said...

Yes, very nice indeed! I have a few photos from the hollows of our time. I have some hollows that don't have photos too.

Pris said...

Thanks, mouse. I had a camera from age 8 and it was a serious hobby for a while, so I think every hill and valley is covered in my lot of photos:-)

Michael Parker said...

Pris, you really hit it out of the ballpark here! God, this is just beautiful! My muses are screaming: "Tell her to publish!"

I concur wholeheartedly.

Pris said...

Thanks, Mike. I'm building up a list for submissions again and yes, this will be on it for sure. Recently, I've been submitting to more publications I've not tried for before and this poem goes onto that list. I appreciate your feedback.