By Anthony Lawrence
My darling turns to poetry at night.
What began as flirtation, an aside
Between abstract expression and first light
Now finds form as a silent, startled flight
Of commas on her face — a breath, a word …
My darling turns to poetry at night.
When rain inspires the night birds to create
Rhyme and formal verse, stanzas can be made
Between abstract expression and first light.
Her heartbeat is a metaphor, a late
Bloom of red flowers that refuse to fade.
My darling turns to poetry at night.
I watch her turn. I do not sleep. I wait
For symbols, for a sign that fear has died
Between abstract expression and first light.
Her dreams have night vision, and in her sight
Our bodies leave ghostprints on the bed.
My darling turns to poetry at night
Between abstract expression and first light.
Poet Bio
More Poems about Arts & Sciences
The Racist Bone
I know this is a real thing, because
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I am a door of metaphor
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You’ll find no lock, no key.
All are free to enter, at will.
Simply step over the threshold.
Remember to dress for travel, though.
Visitors have been known
to get carried away.Illustration by Shadra Strickland
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