© 2023 by MCLA Spires. 

To My Poet

March 5, 2018

I am a cursive body

running laps on your notepad

telling you the story

of how we first met.

 

I am the best type of tickle --

a spark that lights your spirit,

warmth -- like the sound of good morning.

I will be bittersweet -- the first bite

of a fresh peach, the color green,

stars dripping -- Apogee.

 

I’ve heard my words can make you weak.

I speak because your thoughts shriek --

bullet holes decorate the page, your brain

wants more, and we both know

this gets messy, but we both feel it --

something raw is ripening inside your mind.

 

Together -- we are open

to interpretation, acclamation,

coughed up confessions

that have us convinced

certain emotions don’t exist --

language may sway, wobble,

and even pulsate, but language

alone will never explain the way

you create me. I feel

 

Wild and alive and fuck

I feel good. Write me --

passion like this

has never felt so rewarding.

Share on Facebook
Share on Twitter
Please reload

Featured Posts

Wandering Walls

March 5, 2018

1/8
Please reload

Recent Posts

April 25, 2019

April 25, 2019

May 7, 2018

May 7, 2018

May 7, 2018

Please reload

Archive
Please reload

Search By Tags