Somewhere in the middle of your bouquet of words
a bee sting pricks the walls of my heart.
Its heat beats through my chest.
Its venom cooks my face.
Salty viscous tears
slide through my soul
and never marry air.
You are a swallow
swimming through the shallows
of my balmy calloused skin.
Intangible shadows rally
and lie in wait
for later sabotage
when echoes of your words
will waft their fetid fragrance
and send you hot and fluttering
through the tender empty shallows
of my ever hungry flesh.
Brenda Warren 2012
NaPoWriMo Day 12
Yesterday’s prompt at NaPoWriMo asked us to consider our senses, which is where this piece took root. Then it took its own direction, and wound up with swallowed shadows. It almost feels like two different pieces to me, but it’s day 12, and I’m tired. It will look completely different to me in the morning, they often do.
Thank you for your support this month. It’s nice to know you read my work.