A journal of semi-detached poetry.

Elisabeth Horan - Poem

Obsessing Again

Something is missing, 
I'm worried it's you.
Not the same as yesterday - 
when voices had choice
and dreams seemed to matter.
As well the miles between you and me
in our little yellow rooms, 
not connected -
by boom tube
nor light year
nor burrow - 
just floating along
wet leaves in a current
no attributing paths
to meander in, together. 
In retribution for this hard weather
I forget where to go.
I want to still hope
you will hear me tonight
when the wind
is whipping my words up
like devils
and my face takes its time
making corkscrew expressions,
just as you imagine
a demure half smile - 
such perfect cheek apples.
I welcome any intrusion. 
Please, hold me. 
Scold me for doubting. 
Hold me up to the light
and watch me glow bigger
like you've wanted to all this poetic time - 
that worm in your belly - 
well it's time to shine!
I'm giving you more than
I had to give
and it's leaving me
reckless and sinful and glib.
The hum in my mind
is raising in power - 
the timbre growing
each stupid hour; 
seemingly louder
than your hands on me. 
It's deafening this odd future
that my finger
does not sense
your finger
on the other side
of the mirror.
Yet despite such hideous risks, 
I'd keep on doing this forever.


(Text © E. Horan - Publication: Winter 2017-2018)



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