Locket, Empty Of Hair Poem by Ryan Frazier
Locket, Empty Of Hair
Consideration
escapes us in the lockpick hour of
Whenever A.M.
The mattress skewed to one side,
sheets in upheavel,
dreaming pillows and lead blankets
on the floor.
Your clothing wallpapered along
the closet and the pulpit of her chest
crowding the dishes under the bed.
My skull in my palms
and Jesus decor thrown into your stomach:
I'm nothing short of
infatuated.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/1/2024 2:54:41 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I've just landed on this site... and if I hadn't already planned to return - I would absolutely be coming back to read you. Terrific write, Ryan. Great imagery and a terrific close. Yes, indeed - I do like this.