Birthday Stars

Birthday Stars

A Poem by sharon
"

.

"
There's a monster growling under my bed
but I lost interest in him ages ago
and now you're the only thought
occupying my mind in
the vanilla wallpaper darkness.
Late November clings to your
lashes and birthday stars
collide into the lark pond,
their orange flames resemble
romantic suicide attempts,
glowing near our neighborhood.

Violin strings mark your palms
and I stare as our hands brush
and snow appears in puffs on
the rooftops of old colonial homes.
5th Avenue was built for all
the drunken socialites but
you and I wander here because
we have nothing to lose,
buying flowers for 50 cents and
pointing at fireworks in
the freeway silver sky,
we're unusual, baby, yet alive.

Stumbling back, we chuckle
at weird jokes and Mozart
plays through the windows
as we settle down on the vintage sofa,
dozing off between sweet
metaphorical clouds of
smoke and Saturday commercials.

In my arms, you are more than 
a roommate and a friend;
a creature with Tennessee raw lips
and almond brown strands falling 
against the logo on my jacket,
your cheek half lit by 
the shadow in the corner.

I want you so bad, it hurts,
and I'm scared of this
phantom I've become;
needy and dangerous,
thirsting for maybes
as the painted sun
breaks through my reverie.
Lost in your purple charm
and millennium green eyes,
I can't remember
a time when we weren't
too close for comfort,
never warm enough in
our Antarctica-inspired universe.

And winter isn't a wonderland here
like they show on television, baby;
crisp and twinkling,
smelling of peppermint
and greeting cards, no.
It's just another opportunity to
miss you under chipped
china clouds and cynical raindrops.

It's an excuse to pretend
that my heart isn't merely
a messed-up organ and that
you're not just smiling to
be nice when the cursed
clock's hand hits twelve
because there's no one else
we can dive into like
a well-practiced lie.
I'm sick of wishing so hard,
I taste blood, so
just tell me this is more
than desire but less than love
so that I can stop imagining
Alaskan blue sheets tangled
around our ankles in
the hazelnut morning
and the slow descent
of your fingers along
my orange tree spine.




© 2013 sharon



Author's Note

sharon
umm yeah..my first poem on this site, free-verse.

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Reviews

It is beautiful. I love it.

"It's an excuse to pretend

that my heart isn't merely

a messed-up organ and that

you're not just smiling to

be nice when the cursed

clock's hand hits twelve

because there's no one else

we can dive into like

a well-practiced lie."

This is beautiful!





Posted 4 Years Ago


Vivid. The imagery and the wording was good.

Posted 4 Years Ago



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124 Views
2 Reviews
Added on July 18, 2013
Last Updated on July 18, 2013
Tags: longing, friendship, love

Author

sharon
sharon

TX



About
poet, college student, small town dreamer more..

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Stripped Stripped

A Poem by sharon