Whitney Jones Olson Poems

Just an arch in the spine of a widow –
Just the hem of a skirt in the distance –
Just the stain of disappointment in his headlights –
Just the shape of your sigh in the mirror –
...

As your focus is narrow, so you may perfect but little
a camel from a Biblical gate
As your focus is full, so you may stitch their shrouds
As your focus is nothing, so you may birth + be + become
...

Elucidate me.
Make me in cinnamon cellar door.
Ring me up with flavor.
Rose Flamingo Cherry
...

i think, i'll drive you away in my dark blue pickup
my kindled descent might keep on burning
riding on hell-bound autopilot
cause my wheels, baby, they just keep on turning.
...

In the evenings, i see the sunset as a reflection of the potential of you, fading into the sweet darkling twilight.
Rare candid moments are painted with intimacy and ecstasy; touched with uncertainty and mutual risk.
But in the heat of you everything inexplicably fades behind me - and my heart opens as a rose gently embroidered with satin and embedded with precious crystals; tended secretly in anticipation of an affair worthy of the beauty that only vulnerability can convey...
...

When a symphony reaches crescendo, i cry.
When i write, i bear my soul with a depth unimaginable.
When i paint, i release inexplicable passion.
When i love, i love truly and without regret.
...

Remember -
to keep feeling. To keep your heart next to your pillow each night, letting it comfort you, holding your heart 'as though it were home, ' and letting it rest.

Remember -
...

So i pour myself into work because i cannot sleep,
and i pour myself into my cigarettes because i cannot eat.
i pour myself into my emotions because i cannot avoid the sobbing.
i pour myself into twisted novels because i cannot bear to think of love.
...

Fall precious around beneath me –
Forsake your darkling waters and your sacred fountains
And drink of me, baby.
...

Air apart from You is delicate.
anorectic,
Dyspnea refuses my second-hand offerings
bathes in the emblazoning caliginous tendrils
solicits goose bumps where my Cloak is worn through
...