By | April 2nd, 2015 | Nasty, Prose & Cons, web-featured

Sometimes I sit on the moon,
who also sits,
but in the anesthetic space of time,
and I take off my rose-colored glasses
when I land
because it’s already rosy here.

I can watch roses bloom from
the seeds of passing stars
without needing another’s rosy cheeks
or limbs to share radiation
in the fleeting moments
because I am joined by the sun.

Gravel and grain on this terrain
do not irritate my skin after I have
stepped on its anatomy,
the very torso people look to at night,
because this place knows me better
than the blue and green on Earth.

This land has shaken hands
with my rose-colored heart
and watched it pump each beat
and watched me breathe each breath
while I watched my home planet
spin and spin with the inexplicable.

When I question returning back to Earth
the craters speak on the moon’s behalf
and tell me, “You must go back, you
cannot stay forever,” and I am presented with
my rose-colored glasses and I read the inscribed temples:
For you, a numbed reality.

    Buzzsaw Also Recommends:
  • No by Kimberly Caceci (April 10, 2017)
  • “Your Breath”- Valentine’s Day Poetry by Alex Stein (February 14, 2012)
  • I don’t have a title for this by Julia Tricolla (May 3, 2017)
  • Monosyllabic by Sabrina Dorronsorro (October 31, 2012)
  • Woolen Bark by Gillian Wenzel (December 11, 2013)
  • Leave a Reply