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Open Poetry #41
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Baked.
| Open Poetry #41 |
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Baked. |
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Allysa 
since 1999-11-09
Posts 1952In an upside-down garden 
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[The finished version, thanks to the Critical Analysis lovelies.. ] In a low voice, he speaks as I pull the cookies from the oven slightly crisped but not burnt, That is to say, still edible on a warm pan held in hands without oven mitts. He watches in amazement and calls me "baby"- "No one says nice things to me, The way that you do," I smile, cupping the warm sugar in my hand to hold it to his lips, I collect the crumbs and bits of sprinkles, a treat leftover for my tongue- Something to lap up and savor, a slice of him preserved. At two AM, I bake and wait Alone in this small kitchen- and I know that somewhere He is waiting too, staring As the pot of water boils, and The twisted coils of the stove burn, he tries to make his way closer To the calluses, and cookies, in my hand. I close my mouth around the dough and smile, again, at the feeling of sugar and sweetness, this sin is almost skin and pacing across the tiled floor, I slowly lick each finger, thinking that the taste of him could be enough to fill me. |
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| © Copyright 2007 Allysa - All Rights Reserved | |||
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Wonderful...James |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
oohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh lady... that last stanza--now that's perfect. It contains the premise of your metaphor-- "soft impact"--just like a warm cookie would.  Beautiful! |
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latearrival Member Ascendant
since 2003-03-21
Posts 5499Florida |
I love the way you tell a story. You are good. best to you "late" |
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OwlSA Member Rara Avis
since 2005-11-07
Posts 9347Durban, South Africa |
I didn't see the previous version/s, but I love this one. Happy sadness in delicious memories. - Owl |
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