A final slam poem on the topic, Boundaries |
I love you like a sister where there is no space in time your back against the wall no boundaries, intended, a church organist reviewing "Rock Of Ages", then "The Wedding Song" as choir practice sings along chin up, you send me a CD for Christmas yet it's Easter when lilies pop up it is a sad Good Friday but it is all because of love, isn't it? With no boundaries intended, I see you in pumps, a Southern girl now, a dress curling over your ankles the size of Scarlet O'Hara's setting her bottom with a wiggle on the steps of Plantation Tara, won't a half-dozen men gaze up at your face as if it were chiselled and you are in a mag? The lioness in you, has been tamed, I think, since you once roared wild and crazed, scratching at the ground, with no boundaries intended, then, civilized. You draw pictures in the sand, for you are complete, inside a conch I hold up to my ear, listening to the ocean's bottom, my feet scuddling across the muddy broken shells of it, wanting to turn into a mermaid too, as for years you have, hoping I would be as happy with no boundaries intended in the arms of your Picasso stroking canvas like a dream. How he loves to paint! You have measured our friendship like the sound of a grand opera as the songs are sung in Italian by a buxom woman I sigh for you, caught up in your deeply revered dimpled speeches, your hennaed hair, a mystery, furthering my choice of presents to lavish upon you soon, stuck like a genie inside a bottle washed ashore, then broken into shards of glass no boundaries in its path as I shake it, and out you come. |