'A Burnt Thesaurus' a poem by Scott Spethman
I’ve been raised by your peripheral glances
Scanning over our distinct body posture
I’m saying “I miss you” with a hand on my forehead
You’re yelling, but I can’t read with my eyes blurred
A figure of your persona sits on the dashboard
You fiddle around with it while I look on
Lusting to be between your fingers
I’ll never be your eight legged lover
I wish I could speak to you in voice and paint
But not everyone is as talented
Singing from a mountain range
Producing colors I never dreamed of
In the back of my mind I ponder
If I were to guess, I would have to suspect it to be true
That every word I ever wrote brought me back to you
Each syllable a note, every rhyme a stroke
Check out my other poems!
More by this Author
A closed fist with the thumb to the side. An open palm with the thumb at the center of the palm. An open curved palm with the thumb curved and extended out. Index finger extended with the remaining fingers meeting...
The inclusion of deaf and hard of hearing characters in literature has steadily increased in the past three centuries. In the beginning, however, these were usually not fully fleshed out characters, but simply literary...
Begin by holding out your non-dominant hand out in a fist. Then use your dominant hand to clamp down on the wrist of the non-dominant hand. Begin by signing 'red' which is made by sliding the index finger down your...