ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
My fingers curl around the loops
in your high-waisted denim shorts -
We both know that the weather has taken
a turn for the worst and
those shorts just aren't keeping you
warm like his arms
circling around your hips like two sleeves of a
threadbare, well-loved sweater.
You pry my hands off of you,
the ends of your hair lingering faintly,
reluctantly, but we both know that
it isn't summer anymore and it's time to
return inside, no more picnics
in the park with our hands
tied like knots, the ropes are fraying and it's
time to take off well-worn sandals, unthread tangled
tight laces, it's time to stop lying
on the grass with our eyes as our
skies and our hair washing together
in tides, two oceans meeting
with a sigh -
because now he has pointed up to the sun and nothing
is good enough after that.
I watch your pinprick pupils dart over my mouth,
the one you kissed with fervour
in the summer nights when our nails were crescent moons
and the shafts of light catching on our
silver bangles were the constellations,
we were two universes colliding
and combining, our heartbeats merging
into the thrum of the cosmos,
composing symphonies as our hands search over
exposed piano key ribs and
xylophone spines, each breath falling
into each other's lungs as if we were
one - but he left the lights on
now the night remains a time for sleep not a time for
magic.
And I let you go, leaving the imprint of your
high-waisted denim shorts,
the silhouette of wild cherry hair frozen
on the underside of my eyelids,
the taste of strawberry bubblegum
tattooed on my tongue.
And I let you fall into his arms because
the weather has changed and we both know
how you change wardrobes as the winds
blow cold and the leaves
tumble forgotten to the ground,
how you change lovers, packing them away in the
top shelves of cupboards, fitted
into perfect little boxes.
(I see you in the park
one afternoon, wrapped up in a
knitted sweater, you must have
folded those shorts and stuffed them
in the back of bedside drawers)
and I wonder if you miss when
this park was more than just a cut-through
flooded by crimson maple leaves;
when it was golden summer evenings,
cicadas singing, you and I
hand in hand, both our nails
painted blue and our plaited hair melting
into each other's. I wonder if
you miss me.
in your high-waisted denim shorts -
We both know that the weather has taken
a turn for the worst and
those shorts just aren't keeping you
warm like his arms
circling around your hips like two sleeves of a
threadbare, well-loved sweater.
You pry my hands off of you,
the ends of your hair lingering faintly,
reluctantly, but we both know that
it isn't summer anymore and it's time to
return inside, no more picnics
in the park with our hands
tied like knots, the ropes are fraying and it's
time to take off well-worn sandals, unthread tangled
tight laces, it's time to stop lying
on the grass with our eyes as our
skies and our hair washing together
in tides, two oceans meeting
with a sigh -
because now he has pointed up to the sun and nothing
is good enough after that.
I watch your pinprick pupils dart over my mouth,
the one you kissed with fervour
in the summer nights when our nails were crescent moons
and the shafts of light catching on our
silver bangles were the constellations,
we were two universes colliding
and combining, our heartbeats merging
into the thrum of the cosmos,
composing symphonies as our hands search over
exposed piano key ribs and
xylophone spines, each breath falling
into each other's lungs as if we were
one - but he left the lights on
now the night remains a time for sleep not a time for
magic.
And I let you go, leaving the imprint of your
high-waisted denim shorts,
the silhouette of wild cherry hair frozen
on the underside of my eyelids,
the taste of strawberry bubblegum
tattooed on my tongue.
And I let you fall into his arms because
the weather has changed and we both know
how you change wardrobes as the winds
blow cold and the leaves
tumble forgotten to the ground,
how you change lovers, packing them away in the
top shelves of cupboards, fitted
into perfect little boxes.
(I see you in the park
one afternoon, wrapped up in a
knitted sweater, you must have
folded those shorts and stuffed them
in the back of bedside drawers)
and I wonder if you miss when
this park was more than just a cut-through
flooded by crimson maple leaves;
when it was golden summer evenings,
cicadas singing, you and I
hand in hand, both our nails
painted blue and our plaited hair melting
into each other's. I wonder if
you miss me.
Literature
offerings from the day
a gift: despair & sunlight
loving me wrong
climax compels a risk
be it love, an ache,
teeth transforming,
the extinct alone
the isle path hatches into
toying labyrinth into
electric current into
hedgerow growing roses
finally still
I am wrong (a gift)
repentance tastes like shame to the tangled
a little magic outspread
cry doubt on a disgusting moon
my body holds a tempest
my mouth holds a century
Literature
day 305 of heartbreak.
"i know you love me."
darling ,
i love the way you look at me
with eyes full of adoration .
(but that gleam has disappeared)
i love the way we gab and gab
about nothing and everything
at the same time .
(but we haven't spent a 4am together
in quite some time)
i love the way we can fight through
the thorns of life together .
(but now my body is filled with splinters)
i love the way you tell me i'm beautiful
and i know you mean it in every way .
(but now you can't even stand the sight of me)
i'm going through the motions
of heartbreak ,
the stages of grief.
listening to your ramblings
about how you think you know me .
but the thing
Literature
Matchstick
irreplaceable yet unnecessary
leave me in your retrospect
where you found me, unwanted & with a question mark over my head
or a Matchstick, maybe
I'm the fire you started &
couldn't put out
the one you doused &
the One you'll freeze without.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
22/5/14 Alternative title 'Weather girl'
This might be because I've had 'sweater weather' by The Neighbourhood on repeat.
Critique questions: is the overarching plotline clear?
are the line-breaks clear? Which would you do differently?
which parts do you feel need elaboration and which parts are unnecessary?
This might be because I've had 'sweater weather' by The Neighbourhood on repeat.
Critique questions: is the overarching plotline clear?
are the line-breaks clear? Which would you do differently?
which parts do you feel need elaboration and which parts are unnecessary?
© 2014 - 2024 comatose-comet
Comments16
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Overall Vision Originality Technique ImpactHello, it's me Naktarra here to give you your critique from the world of <img class="avatar" src="a.deviantart.net/avatars/l/a/l…" alt="
" title="lacoterie" />. Sorry for the delay in the critiques, but I'm sure glad to be here now to write this one for you. I am very excited to be writing a critique for this poem because frankly, it's absolutely stunning and beautiful. I'll go on more what I like about it, but I would like to answer your original critique based questions first.1. Is the over-arching plot-line clear?
Yes, it is clear. You're using effective language and characters for this poem. Even after the first read you can completely understand everything in your poem. It's an easy read, not a metaphorical puzzle.
2. Are the line-breaks clear? Which would you do differently?
I can see that each stanza breaks up into being a jump in time and thought, almost like a paragraph. I admire this idea in your poem. You could, if you wished, break up the poem into their own poems through each stanza. Each one carries out a proper story in meaning like a short-story's beginning, middle and end.
3. Which parts do you feel need elaboration and which parts are unnecessary?
I think you need something a little strong to feel the space in the middle of the fourth stanza. I think that these four lines can come across a little be non-productive to the story.
“the silhouette of wild cherry hair frozen
on the underside of my eyelids,
the taste of strawberry bubblegum
tattooed on my tongue.”
It's a good line and the bit about the bubblegum is a colourful splash to the story. However, the best I can describe it as, is as filler. It's sort-of just there before you have this moving moment explaining the man. A filler isn't bad, but it could be used in another way.
Fillers are good, fillers are great actually. However, what you could do right here is put in this little filler in the rising action as a bigger peace of background information. State a specific loving memory with the man, or state something about where these shorts came from. It could give you more perspective on the two characters.
You've written a really lovely poem and I'm very impressed with it. <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/h/h…" width="15" height="13" alt="
" data-embed-type="emoticon" data-embed-id="357" title="Heart"/>Happy writing!
Naktarra