Splinter

I fucked you like a thousand rivers

You swam into my fingernails

And rested in my touch

Shooting sparks along my thighs

Sliding ribbons around my spine

I strung a poem around your waist

Whispers danced about your flesh

You stroked each word; an artful caress

 

You wrapped a promise around my throat

Gentle kiss prepared a noose

A toxic hold

Inching into flesh

You tighten before you let me go

You hung me out so I would know

Reviews

[Paula]

Five times I read this over and finally realised the almost invisible turn around that had obviously hooked me: it's that line - second before last, and how it draws a taught contrast in the tense. It is present tense, while the rest is not. And so while for most of the poem the reader is eaves dropping on your address, the second last line springboards us into a closer immediacy, before retracting once more...
It's a great technique. It gropes (to say the least).

[Denham Cole]

One review? One review?!! This is such an energetic write! It pulls on the reader like a totally invigorating series of ballistic stretches.
Elisa: greatly executed poem here. That's my opinion and I'm sticking to it. The last line lingers and tantalises and aches and teases and lives and learns and sighs and grows up...
Great stuff