On a Joplin trip
Winding a string around my finger
Oh yeah; sweetest hues and blue of
Addiction, of love of words, pastel baby
What’s the point, little girl-pink tastes
Like anger to me — I need nothing
But satin feelings — I understand nothing — the
Presence of my body — floating
Away, sweet death or dream of
Candy-boy-illicit-shame; Overjoyed
You still want me
Hate me / love me / have you tied me up yet?
This game. Of escaping.
String around your finger / throat
Bring me the thrusting and the forced love
Something I needed or wanted
Who can say but you in this moment—
Starry sky of a mind-a-melting
Swaying, running in fingertip
Smudges, stroking the hibiscus
Pearl — fleeing the thing…
you made me
I am a puddle
or I am art
Photo by kevin laminto on Unsplash
Elisabeth Horan
Elisabeth Horan is a poet mother student lover of kind people and animals, homesteading in Vermont with her tolerant partner and two young sons. She writes to survive and survives to write - We are all battling something. Let's support each other. Elisabeth enjoys riding horses and caring for her cats, chickens, goats and children (not necessarily in that order). She teaches at River Valley Community College in New Hampshire.
