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We keep our desires
in small cast-iron boxes
with impenetrable locks,
carry them with us
wherever we go
and they weigh us down,
make our hearts feel
like toothache.
Sometimes sounds creep
through the metal:
bird song, slow ferns uncurling,
rain on greenhouse glass.
Sometimes
when we're not concentrating
scents slip out
of the miniscule cracks:
crushed orange peel,
fevers and hot summer skin.
Sometimes our desires
are beyond our control,
they make whirlwinds
in their prisons,
rock their boxes,
scream for honey
and fingertips.
We try to ignore them,
blush and fidget,
smother them with our coats
and talk about maths.
Sometimes we're cruel,
we fill the bath
and hold them under water
until they stop babbling,
deprive them of our dreams.
gaia holmes
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, September 19, 2008 |
| Submitted Date |
: |
Friday, September 19, 2008 |
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