redecorate casualties and
unbidden joy.
The city is packed
with Friday night
and red tear drops
hang from
my falsified sky –
I absorb heat
through porcelain
and try on different lives.
Here
draw my face
with jagged lines.
There is beauty
in this inconvenience
because
sometimes
time is not water
but a constant
- a vessel
to be questioned,
tested,
tempted.
The canopy of shivers and porcelain.
Chandeliers sparkle opposite crooked lamp shades,
the America flag,
and shadows in velvet.
I’ve sat here before;
I’ve walked past our ghosts,
at a table that no longer
exists,
planning dreams
that never happened.
I reached for your grip
and blushed along the skyline.
But,
our relationship consisted
of apologies
and wishes.
We described ourselves with examples
instead of explanations
because
it is easier to situate oneself
in a square
than a circle.
Subtitles and Sweat.
Heat moved with a look upon introductions
and the implication of Spring,
unlike composure
followed by the chase
before
sunset.
He raised questioning gestures
because politeness
is usually
not that affectionate.
His cologne stitched shirt
and forgotten voice
interviewed me until
a desired one night
upheld an obscure
fantasy of poise
when finally
this loft became
my
observatory
upon a single pillow
of sweat.
Margot’s poetry tries to represent the spectrum of desire, despair, and every muddled feeling in between. Some of her work can be found in Buddylit Zine, Califragile, Ghost City Review, and Sonic Boom. She is also a writing coach who can be found via her page, The Write Place, on FB and recently started publishing with Elephant journal.
