Doug Loves Sarah #27, 20 September 2007

Pomengranate Lips

This poem was inspired not so much by Sarah as by her absence. Towards the end of the summer she had to briefly (I think it was two weeks?) work down in Birmingham. In the midst of that, I turned the emotions of missing her, the emotions of longing and the rest into this poem. About a mythical love affair, and all its pluses and minuses. Or well, about the taste of her lips, anyhow.

Persephone, It's been the slow settling of Eight hours since midnight and I still taste A hint of your pomegranate lips, The tangy bite of their sweet, the rose petal caress of their grenadine, their sculpted sigh brought forth From glass, the clay Upon them as they melt into smiles and thoughtful knowing Glances, Scattered across the shores of Lethe. I still taste your Pomegranate lips. I still taste The fog of your eyes, colorful and quiet, The sand of your hair, The smell of salt in your curves, the heat in your hint Of deeper things, The whisper of your pouring against my gentle walks, cool and miles long. I still taste your pomegranate lips, Keep them tucked away, in my Breast pocket, next to my monochronomatic locket, beating off timed tock-ticks with a hint of nervous Anxiety. I still taste your pomegranate forget, Against my lips of onyx and amethyst, And the whisper of dawn already come and gone.