Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Small Forgotten Poems

Small Forgotten Poems


We read ourselves in the lines
of your face, empty the red
from your warm lips, spoon ice
into sips of cognac and recall
as a poem the press of your breath
in the center of ruined wallpaper.


If I favor memory, I recall
the night you were born,
how I would hold you, carefully,
your lips closed over a thumb.

I would read you small, forgotten

You would suck as if a metronome,
your face the color of fire.


I aspire to be your introduction
to the six dimensions of the highest
moons in Galway.

Nobody says, "Don't pack rope."

2015 Maureen E. Doallas

I created these poems from words found in lines from TweetSpeak Poetry's post "Top 10 Dip Into Poetry Lines".

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