I took parts from poems I’ve made (that were either too short or couldn’t stand well on their own) and combined them into a single poem for the English Department Writing Prizes.
Sun-catchers and mason jars on the windowsill,
my hands damp with dish soap, and your hands,
dry like driftwood or pumice stone,
sliding down the slopes of my shoulder blades.
The flesh of your mouth drinks in the
juicy light that hangs against my head
like a tangerine halo.
When the low, guttural sound of your hello
falls on my sweater,
a smile arrives across my face.
My hair strands hover with the static from winter clothes
while you cup my head gently as if I were your morning coffee.
I like how your eyes that sometimes burn blue
like beads of yielding, molten glass,
will wrap themselves in drowsy paper,
closed and cuddling against my pillow case,
and I like the slight way your mouth curls at its corner,
how your full smile cuts like a flash of sun in a mirror,
so sweet and unexpected.
I am such a hot-skinned girl,
writhing like boiled water when you are near,
you with your voice that softens me like clay,
crossing out my doubts, makes me want to stay.