Lately it seems as if every poem I read is about fingers trailing on skin, how that said skin is a map, how stars come down to kiss eyes at night, how limbs are support beams, etc. This never dawned on me until I saw this:
As poets, have we become lazy in our analogies? Is there nothing more to compare love, loss & incensed emotion to besides the body? And before you go on a say something, I am guilty of this myself. Don’t get me wrong, I get it. Being close, skin to skin with someone, is a delicate state. One that is often clouded in a hazy, musical moment. Unless of course, it’s Saturday morning and you’re both in pajamas with wild hair and disgusting breath and you race to the bathroom to take a piss first.
Or rather, life as it becomes.
So, I’m going to challenge myself. To not overuse rogue words. To not compare how I feel to limbs. To stars. To not forcefully pull a poem from my cold mouth before it’s ready.
As for that picture, I’m not quite sure what love written on my arms would look like.
Literal or figuratively.
Unless of course, I wrap my arms around love. Right as I crawl over him on a Saturday morning to make it to the bathroom first.