I cheated a little today and instead of starting a poem from scratch used the opportunity to finish one I began a fortnight or so ago, thereby ending the streak of song lyric poems. I hope you enjoy it!
Do you remember spring and the hours we spent
in the park smoking cynical words,
losing time already sought by our sober selves?
Over us cloud, sky stripped from an animal’s back,
and a hot-air balloon like a blood-drop
wiped from the eye of the sun, reddening its gaze.
We craned ourselves to watch its dizzy rise,
discovered an answering swing in our shared pulse:
a compass needle that spun to point at space.
We saw the crimsoned throb of straining ropes,
the lone flier cupped in a wicker palm,
the flame’s bright plunge into the mouth of air.
I’d give you this moment wrapped in torn red tissue,
if you would let me. I’d gift you heat,
deserts of clouds in a thirsting sky,
sizzling brands of light on the lids of my eyes,
cancerous taste of memory gilding my tongue,
the day, the wine, the cigarettes and all of it.
The quote prompt for yesterday’s poem was “I just wanna be your telephone” from ‘Telephone’ by James Blunt.