Wednesday, March 17, 2010

poetry: n.

"To show the laboring bosom's sweet intent,"*

Dream with eyes open
eyes splattered on a page
every letter staring.

Scream with mouth closed
tongues prodding on a page
licking threatening teeth.

Succumb to sweet nothings
while loving
through graphite whispers.



*Phillis Wheatley, To S.M., a Young African Painter, on Seeing His Works