A cornflower sky folds
Behind a pair of captive mirrors.
The first to arrive
Often goes home alone.
(if at all)
Struck by the indifference
Of my own meager expectations
I wait, a bit of flesh
A filigree of scars,
Graven by the same hand
Meant to erase them.
–
I chew my index finger
Off at the root,
A spare key furnished
Of might and desperation.
Locked out, noncommittal
My lone heart sits ajar.
–
I chase doors as they form
In the caress of your eyes,
In the scarlet of worried lips.
A room swarms with echoes.
I thought I could pack you
Into my open wounds
But, however deep, the blood
Always seeps through.
–
I carry your heartache
In my unwashed skin
In the organs
Soft and unapproachable
Like metaphorical fruit.
My perfect dreams
Unraveling in the wake
Of a patient nightmare.
for
mindlovemisery 
Oh I did like this, well done…
Thank you Michael XD The most important bit is that you feel inspired and I could tell from your submission that you were =)
Thank you Michael =)
This grasped and clinched my heart tightly. Love them all. Thank you.
Thank you so much Jenny =)
Some really beautiful images here… This one passed straight into me, and my own blood is dripping onto the floor now ,leaving a trail of freezing pomegranate seeds in my wake.
Oh wow what a beautiful comment thank you Michael!
Oh my my my! This is so rich–I especially love “filigree of scars”, WOW!
Thank you so much I am so glad!
Very clever:
“I chew my index finger
Off at the root” … I don’t think you’re using your mouth.
“My lone heart sits a/jar” (waiting to be be filled)
This made me giggle, because I’m hopelessly childish:
“I thought I could pack you
Into my open wound[‘]s
But[t]”
I love this:
“A cornflower sky folds
Behind a pair of captive mirrors.”
I guess the mirrors are eyes, held up to another person, presumably reflecting his truest soul. Girls are so bad about this, thinking they are a man’s soul mate. I think I’ve felt that way about a hundred [thousand] times. It’s in our wiring, which totally sucks. Dudes just want to get their egos and heads rubbed. Ya know? They for damn sure don’t want soul mates. LOL.
“I carry your heartache
In my unwashed skin” … Yeah, maybe take a bath before you give him this poem. 😛 (just being silly)
I LOVE the word “patient” in any poem ’cause it’s never just about having patience; to me, it always makes it about a patient and her doctor, which is always an interesting poetic scenario, she in the hands of her healer. Ooh, but do you watch American Horror Story? If so, I do hope you saw the Asylum season. IT WAS AWESOME. Seriously, best show ever. Watch it, if you haven’t.
I will NEVER forget the stuff about Dr. Arden and Shelley. Ooh, and He sure had a thing for that nun, Sister Mary Eunice. Now I want to watch the whole season again. Here’s a snippet:
I can’t find one of Shelley anywhere. Bummer. Really, watch it. It’s way cool.
lol! I hadn’t caught that sometimes I actually do notice quirks like that/possible funny interpretations, sometimes I miss them but I do have a right good laugh at myself
Oddly I have had a lot of men profess to be my soulmate, perhaps because they think I want to hear that. I do, however, believe in soulmates which maybe stems from being a woman but either way I have been married 15 years to a wonderful man
I also love the word patient
I do watch it and I love it! I also really loved the 2nd season and have thought about rewatching it myself!
Another piece that dives deep into the heart of darkness and emerges – bloodied – ( love the imagery of trying to pack wounds with another but the bleeding doesn’t stop ) – with a sense of well – trepidation mixed with the longing.
Incredibly evocative of loneliness and isolation.
Stunning job Yves 🙂
Thank you so much for your gorgeous thoughtful comments
What caught my attention (well mostly all of it 😉 –was) “I chew my/ index finger/ Off at the root,/ A spare key furnished… As hands are (I think as a mother…) supposed to heal. That gentle touch like kisses to boo-boos.
As well as “A filigree of scars,/ Graven by the same hand/
Meant to erase them.” – When ever I hear the word graven I think of it in a religious context of ‘Thou shall have no graven images…’ And yet our souls in the keeping of that higher power can only be mere images of such an omnipotent being.
Glad you liked my ‘second room’ – you reminded me of me playing with my grandmothers’ buttons and her aprons when I was younger. And just the other day I had wrapped an apron (not a fancy one, as I don’t really have any fancy ones) around my grand-daughters wait and she was a princess with a long gown… even if only in my eyes.
What a beautiful and thoughtful comment Jules. Graven certainly does convey such imagery. My grandmothers had so few possessions. I used to dress up in my grandmother’s clothing myself though she was such a tall thin woman with tiny tiny shoulders that they didn’t make for such a good fit lol That is so precious Jules =)