cellardoor

cellardoor

A Poem by addisone
"

"This famous linguist once said that of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, that "cellar door" is the most beautiful."

"

Angled words like sharpened skin, 

a gentle air lift from the cheek, 

bones red weak with worry. 

Seducing charm a harps fingers pricked, 

split weathered lips. 

A notion dangled like edges of cliffs and this is what had brought the end of light to beginning strides and the evenings mellow as breathing divides. 

A short term analysis waking even lined distress, 

cabled neck with a punctured crest. 

Is it in-defiant like you imagined all the words would trace your skin like violins? 

A vile trend this matching carnations with flesh covered beds, has become. 

Your body beats the sky as am I dried out in the sun. 

Bathing in the jewel encrusted lampshade of my head. 

Do you still sip tea through a borrowed tongue? 

Filling plastic body bags with leaves to clean up autumns mess, but it left more than fallen trees and broken branches. 

Tangled limbs fluctuating with each other playing a melody as free an loud as a cathedral birthing sound from the womb of our thoughts. 

Fixed fits starting fires over fields of misted wheat, it can be seen from the trees that hang low dipped in the shallow of the river mouth. 

Truth splintered in shards of intercommunicated attempts to flatten anger with an iron punch. 

No words hold shields against anger out of frustrated love. 

Giving in like a weak wall giving way to follow through with patching the past, plastered, and painted over. 

You've never seen the inside of these walls like I have. 

You'll never see the inside of this home again with Lake Tahoe blue skin stretching over old cozy cocoa hole punched walls. 

Cleansed body rage expressing superior passion for the aching of my fingers in your dry perfume presence just at the edge of my reach. 

Worn out gold plated nickel with a large plastic representation of a stone still lingering behind the drawers of my traveling dresser. 

This ring matches the worn down gold plated memories of you, turning my skin green with a rustic infection. 

An exposed nickel reaction leaving sore wounds around my fingers where your hands once fit. 

Where once was joy now sits lines of aging allergy. 

Where once was a place to hold parties for distant lovers, now blasted with razor sharp confetti coloring all the white clothes with fresh warm body paint.

/

The world stopped spinning, it always feels that way huh? 

Teeth withered sharp by the summer heat, speak loud enough and ill hear you through the trees, winter bark snapped flesh regenerates, a replacement tone for the hours spent alone.

 Bones fractured like athletes shins, I feel my body giving in, my summer sun baked soul dancing in the winter glow. 

Teeth withered sharp by the summer heat, bottle talks of self induced seclusive walks through midnight shaded tunnel brush. 

Over flowing thorny shrubs baring passage to a pink sun, our dog was running faster than the sun could rise and the happiness was brightest in your eyes, like a silver coin at the bottom of a clear blue lake. 

I heard a crow that sounded like an eleven year old boy crying for help today. 

Sleep deprivation, human chatter from the windows ten feet in the air all around me. 

Oxygen heavy like numb hands slept on too long or local aesthetics messing up the message i tried to send to my hands to reach for the glass before my throat caved in and collapsed. 

My Atlantic body begging for more water, soaking up the particles replacing splattered breathing fragments, one sped up heartbeat or one too late or none at all.

Reducing the size of my body so I can fit through that hole in the wall.

 


- addisone 

© 2017 addisone


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Added on August 22, 2016
Last Updated on December 23, 2017
Tags: phonaesthetics

Author

addisone
addisone

Gillette, WY



About
showcase or something I don't know more..

Writing
12. 12.

A Poem by addisone


recycled. recycled.

A Poem by addisone