“Your iPhone pocket-called me the other day.
You were walking.
I could hear your legs moving.
I was in your pants, after all, with the phone.
Swip swip. Swip swip. Swip swip.
Very rhythmic. Soothing. I listened in for a while. I was hoping for a scrap of inappropriate conversation.
I like to overhear things that hurt me.
I got nothing.
Just legs.
You were just going somewhere.”
“I have been ignored by prettier women than you, but none who carried the heavy pitchers of silence so far, without spilling a drop.”
— Jeffrey McDaniel in an excerpt from “Letter to the Woman Who Stopped Writing Me Back”

I Have To Tell You

I have to tell you, there are times when the sun strikes me like a gong, and I remember everything, even your ears.

Dorothea Grossman

“At first, heartbreak made me beautiful.
My skin fluoresced. I hypnotized trees.
The orphans followed me around town,
drunk on my pain. I ate only my own
hunger, gave off a scent like bitter oranges
or chlorine. Loss left me strangely whole,
as if my sadness, were it strong enough,
could turn your ship around. That was back
when I aged. Now, like an astronomer
who seeks no first causes, but only to map
the connections pinned out over the sea,
I want to diagram the light that shines out
through the holes you pricked into me.”
— Maureen Thorson, in “Apples to Oranges”
“Longing, we say, because desire is full of endless distances.”
— Robert Hass in an excerpt from “Meditation at Lagunitas”

Exceprt from “Morning”

…I’ll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go.

Frank O’Hara

“I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.”
— Edna St. Vincent Mallay in an excerpt from “Dirge Without Music”
“I’ve tried to get you out of my head but I can’t seem to get you out of my flesh. I think about your body day and night. When I try to read it’s you I’m reading. When I sit down to eat it’s you I’m eating.”
— Jeanette Winterson in “Written on the Body

freewrite [similes and metaphors]

somethingiwrotejustnow:

metaphorically speaking,

you were hard wood floors

on my bare feet in the morning.

if you prefer a simile, you were

completely debilitating like

my sensory receptors wouldn’t

respond to anything

but your touch.

(via outside-inside-deactivated20140)

Screw poetry, it’s you I want,
your taste, rain
on you, mouth on your skin.

Margaret Atwood in “Late Night”