Thursday, 21 May 2015

Perfume on my wrist



The minutes pass only in clicks of keys,
the drumroll of space bars, the slight zephyr
of breathing, stale cigarette smoke, the broken wheeze
of a machine, the silent turns of clever
codes, there is no talk, nothing anyone can hear
but a sudden eddy of air inches near.



A faraway crack of sound, a van tyre
bursts on the road, and flaps to a whining close;
the traffic's a rush of fluid, fuel and fire
seeping in thin red lines from shut windows.
Your voice is a perfume left on my wrist,
your footfalls the brush strokes of an artist.







12 comments:

  1. Wow! so many different features moulded beautifully :)

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    1. :) good to see you here Vandana, and thanks.

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  2. That is beautiful, I can't even find the right words for how exquisitely it captures the moment.

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    1. Thank you so much martine, great to know I managed to get that moment across!!

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  3. Very nice images and word choice throughout this piece.

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    1. Pleased to know you liked it :) thanks

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  4. And yet one seeks
    a lover on line
    hiding from what
    another might see

    perfume left from
    thoughts entwined
    what I have written
    is it truly about me

    your words grab
    this mind of mine
    yet this dream will
    never come to be


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    1. Wow! Speechless. Most unique compliment - thank you.

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  5. On your second stanza
    I missed it you see
    The agony of death
    How rude of me

    I read it over and over
    Going through each line
    It seems I was reading it
    As if I was totally blind

    Memories is all that’s left
    Of one that’ll never be gone
    Of course with this blindness
    Again I might be wrong

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    1. No right or wrong answers here...all free to interpret any which way readers like...

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  6. Wistful...
    I love the multi-sensory nature of your poem....

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    1. Life can get to be a multi-sensory assault sometimes :) thanks for being here, Michelle.

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