Norman F. Santos
To Write On Her Arms - Poem by Norman F. Santos
A predicament, in grills
Pirouetting in a prancing vinyl
Groping inside a rupture
Why do nebulas perish me?
Swords and dagger shall clatter
By the blind corner
Of your eyelids
Where were the compasses
That drove me here?
A song for the dinghy
Chaffing the periphery
Azure fluid lands of blades
Abort the sequence, or not
Why am I here and not here at all?
Faithful words shivering
Veils and nail polishes
Bloating masquerades and lemon tears
A ballad by the costal reef
What ocean can I reel in if I try?
In the meantime, in between time
Conceiting in your satin
Poisons, potions, abrasions
Why is it hard to write about love?
We are robots, dead and alive
There’s a bright light
Who are you, Seraphim?
Brimming of emptiness
Dark summer skies
When will the manacles rust truly?
A skeleton in the closet, bantering
In cellars, withdrawn in subtlety
Why are you too close to my chambers?
An escape goat left to bled
Bring down the portcullis!
There’s a city buoyed in your lips
How are you, blooming like a Venus Trap?
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