Gwendolyn as Lover – by CM Burroughs

We fix you maternally in the mind, orient you in a case of “tut-tut,”
“there there,” and “you’re young yet,” but how many times did
you posture yourself for the broad body of him or him and open

like home — his hands in your hair, your nerves rising kinetically
to the cupola of his palms? Lovers’ propensity for being a keep
and your saying (when you mean it), “I am yours.”

We fix you in the mind as bright-sighted seminar, dipping from
the source all that you know, but how often did your eyes light
in flirtation or fight, working from his getting your dander up to

his oval mouth there, there, your teasing tut-tut in arousing
admonition at what he was after, knowing, as you prepared
to keep him, that you were young yet and gleaning, gleaning.

CM Borroughs

…love this style of poetry…

(image courtesy of pinterest)

Crestfallen

did I wake up beneath
toasted cotton clouds

or smeared tears
against the murky eye,

haven’t the birds
alerted of my arrival
for one more day

or did they jerk me
from my empty slumber
as tiny wells as thunder

hasn’t the morning dew
grounded me briskly
shocking my re-existence

or did it soak through
layers of my resistance,
earning distance

at what point did I hear
the infinite breath
that slipped through
branches and fountains
just to kiss me

or did it come too late
before my wake
chilling, as is sometimes does
the blaze to take

and didn’t the sun
greet me with everything
warm and gleaming
blinding snares teeming
joining the frenzy
to celebrate my rising

or does it shine
on the shell
of a nobody?

– B. Brown

(image by JOANNA KRÓTKA)