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Woman's Corner Magazine |
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Mother Sonnet by Melissa Patton Her soul speaks an ocean of secrets Of whispers too salty to tell I sit on rough sands in the distance Awaiting a clear, simple knell
But silence escapes in great bellows Worried waves draw her closer to me The shore shrinks between us, and she knows I could drown in the depths of her sea Mother, forgive my intrusions My ocean overflows, you understand My tides rise and fall with a dark moon But your waves rush me back to dry land Forever the voice in my head, I will rise up and call you blessed. I found you like a patron in a museum. I shuffled silently
from painting to painting until one stopped me. Drew me in and spoke to me. Called my name somehow. Made me look
deeper. It was the eyes that struck me first. How the artist must
have struggled to find the perfect hue. Those serious serious eyes, eternally questioning, internally questioning.
I wanted to reach out. To touch the artist's simple strokes of complex blue. To feel the sandy brown curls
like the "Starry Night" swirls. To stroke the soft, pallid cheeks the artist forgot to blend with rose. If I could trace the strokes with only one careful finger, perhaps I could understand. I could know
this man I instantly loved. I moved slowly, thinking I could touch without harm. But a pinpoint of
paint remained, bleeding into my skin, until pulsing through my veins. But you weren't ready to be touched. Thinking I would change you, when I only
wanted to know. To know each brush stroke of your composition. To touch inspiration in human form.
I asked too much. But the colors of my love blend on my fingertip. I'll paint my words with the stain.
 Knead by
Steven Kaminski I ran
my fingers through your feet Softly
caressing them and rubbing them down You glanced
at me above your eyeglasses Your
smile that lit the room Playfully
I just kept circling and rubbing back and forth You sighed
and complained to me, "I have
not been able to write a sentence in the past ten minutes." Well
whose fault is that I ask in my own mind Just
answering you with an appreciative smile You gave
me the gift of you and your time I will
keep rubbing your toes in slow circles And just take you anyway I can get you.
The Stubble by Steven Kaminski I know how it itches
your skin Getting your chin
all red as we met lip to lip I woke early as you
laid back down Running my fingers
over the coarseness The rough abrasive
hairs through my fingers I stood before the
mirror and looked Rough face, rough
guy Taking the razor
from the holder Dryly I started to
slowly chase the stubble I didn't want the
water to wake you I felt a little smoother
but it was not there waiting The stubble to greet
you as I spooned behind you And your hair rubbed
softly back into me Your tender to my
harshness Seemed kind of natural
somehow. I can get you. |
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