I will admit that, while writing this poem, I got really confused about what it was actually about. It started human and ended up abstract, although it was meant to remain human, and now it feels oddly macabre – at least, to me. I honestly have no idea how you’ll read this and what you’ll take from it, but it left me with a feeling that was a little like an echo, whatever that means. I hope you enjoy it, anyway!
Goosebumps
Watch my skin ripple, with those little
bumps and grooves, bumps and grooves,
up and down, until a forest stands within an ocean.
The trunks – silver white;
the sea – peach pale.
This scene will never see the sun again,
so take your rowboat and thumb your oar
between the strands of spider silk –
they are mine, and my body is yours.
Sheath it within a roll of navy sky, cotton,
or take it between your palms and warm it;
you can be my sun, so I will meld to you like glass
and become a molten existence.
We don’t know where we’ll go, not if I am
the sea, and the forest, and the valleys between,
and the rolling hills and skin-painted scene.
Where are you? I cannot see you –
are you the wind?
Or something else?
Enjoyed the poem? Why not check out Our Paused World or Aleatory Poetry?
(They’re my poetry collections! Available on Amazon!)
Oskar Leonard 