From Bottom to Top

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
(Spoken Word-Style Poem)

Submitted: November 06, 2011

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Submitted: November 06, 2011

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A A A


 

Her toes...calloused from dance shoes and broken...from raising herself up on them to reach for...standards placed in the sky, by her parents of which she always seemed to fall short of.

Theyre attached to her feet, which are swift like the wind as they.....run from situations at the first sign of trouble...


Up further to her legs, legs smooth and long like piano keys....halfway up rests her knees....that bend as her, hips swing and move....and twist like a blender, as the music grows loud and the lights get dimmer.

Upwards more to her waist ill rise....here hosts prints from where these hands used to lie... i’ll climb up her ribs to a chest that cages a heart that beats a tune....a tune that I like but no none of the words to. Feel me?  


Arms that stretch far and wrap wide... like gift paper around the present which is her letting me inside....of those arms, body against mine...thoughts moving fast but slow goes the time.

Her shoulders....so strong and worn...from carrying the weight of the problems, alot of which arent even her own.


Her neck is a ‘bridge’ that takes me from her body to her mind....a trip there and youll be surprised by the things that youll find..

But first lips....lips and a tongue that knows tricks that all magicians envy.....Her mouth imprisons words, both harsh and sweet and the prisoners escape plenty.


Teeth...they dig into her bottom lip when turned on...and pierce the insides of her cheeks from habit....but back to lip, when she bit it i just knew i had to have it.

A nose that could smell a lie from a mile away.


Her eyes shine bright, bright as the sky on a sunny day thats so bright the clouds cowered on this day..they were afraid to show themselves...these eyes are like windows, shes sees out and i try to see right back inside...but cant, all i see is the reflection of another set, as she looks into mine.  theyre so big with such clarity....from the tears that have washed across them like windex.  but shes a strong girl who holds the tears hostage but when they cant take it anymore they committ suicide and jump from those eyes but never when anyone is around to bear witness to the tragedy.

She has a wrinkle in her forehead and brow from all of this lifes confusion, some of which came from me.


Her hair flows long and smooth like brown silk...with a smell, such a smell....it reaked of a smell that tells me her shampoo was made specifically based on the preferences of my nose. It all encaged a mind....a mind that was so different but went so well with mine.  Packed with a dangerous combination of intelligence and perspective thats real hard to find.  

And this is all just from the very first time....first time, that your path crossed mine.

 


© Copyright 2017 Louis Jay. All rights reserved.

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