trading stories with a soon to be lover in the customhouse pub.

I didn’t know who you were when you breezed down the faintly old beer scented stairs and into my orbit

(and I spoke in soft words)

My fingers trailing through the left over whiskey glass puddles as I listened to the stories you were telling

(and you spoke in giant sounds, your words eating away at my silences within until I just didn’t know how to breathe)

I lost myself in those quicksilver moments, pitcher-plant trapped, until I forgot what my reflection meant to me alone

(and my words slipped between the cracks of your pauses, unnoticed, unnoticed, even by me)

I thought your words held the world in their palm, big and roundly open for exploring

(and neglected to notice your fingers were clenching tighter around my own shrinking world, incrementally decreasing my ability to fly)

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Yes Jennie. I did like this poem.
"(and neglected to notice your fingers were clenching tighter around my own shrinking world, incrementally decreasing my ability to fly)"
The complete poem was very good. I liked the above statement. Easy to be capture by a story teller. Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry.
Coyote