Invisible ink

When they say someone is driven to distraction

can’t stop thinking about …

I imagine

a woman running in the rain

newspaper overhead, painted nails

pursed lips, the crook of a smile despite

her hose getting wet, soaking her clavicle, glistening like

some jewel in a torrent might

suddenly fruit

it reminds me of the first time I heard Suzanne Vega sing

not knowing she was singing for a woman

but something in the detail caught my eye

how she felt the same hot breath, steaming glass

lost bra strap, showing slip, untucked blouse

a stray hair, falling in her eyes, it took all of my

self possession not to reach across and brush it

back into place

although I’d rather press my face

into her neck and lose myself to the sound

of rain and tempests, growing inside me

wordlessly showing her the crocheted waves

with every brush stroke

a painting cannot be completed without

sufficient water and concentration

much like a woman cannot be pleasured without

the breath of sea and infinite patience

it is like learning an instrument

your fingers growing sore in repetition and as they

tire, music is formed, her mouth opening

throat reddened, thighs dampening, heat climbing

you find yourself approaching

a cusp of wonder without worthy language

to describe, its motion

when I am tired, sorrowful, when I feel wan daylight

setting behind me, proffering dusk and your absence keenly

I close my eyes and feel her in every song

that girl beneath the awning, trying to close her

umbrella, her shapely legs and slender ankles

breasts rising against damp silk, in one long sigh

there are passions within us

that have teeth and fire

where hunger is a permanence

just like the silver locket hanging

about your neck and how if you play with it

I find myself needing to be

that silver, that shape, that falling

between you, against your skin, as if we can possess

another which we never can and so we try

again and again

thinking up ways

as coffee grows cold

as people flit in and out

hardly noticing the girl

who sits alone

wrapped in thought of you

a blunt pencil by her side

writing

in invisible ink

the landscape of a

woman

lost in rain

10 thoughts on “Invisible ink

  1. Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
    TheFeatheredSleep – A rain of poem made me think of this:

    “Tell me where is fancy bred,
    Or in the heart or in the head?
    How begot, how nourished?
    Reply, reply.
    It is engender’d in the eyes,
    With gazing fed;” – William Shakespeare

  2. Instantly, I can see every image and hear every Vega song and I long to run after this woman in the rain and lure her to shelter:

    “it reminds me of the first time I heard Suzanne Vega sing
    not knowing she was singing for a woman
    but something in the detail caught my eye
    how she felt the same hot breath, steaming glass
    lost bra strap, showing slip, untucked blouse
    a stray hair, falling in her eyes, it took all of my
    self possession not to reach across and brush it
    back into place
    although I’d rather press my face
    into her neck and lose myself to the sound
    of rain and tempests, growing inside me”

    I love the simplicity of this also its strength in imagery too.

  3. If it were possible to get inside your brain as you write these pieces, I wouldn’t be able to finish my sentences. The passion with which you write, it’s beyond exciting, bordering on excruciating ecstasy. Someone hold me, I’m about to faint. I’m weak…

  4. Reblogged this on I Write Her and commented:
    You’ll understand why I commented “If it were possible to get inside your brain as you write these pieces, I wouldn’t be able to finish my sentences. The passion with which you write, it’s beyond exciting, bordering on excruciating ecstasy. Someone hold me, I’m about to faint. I’m weak…” Enjoy! 😉

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