2nd post

[melancholyxrose.livejournal.com]

i posted in here before and i really really enjoyed the feedback. this is a new thing i wrote this evening and would really appreciate some response. thanks!!


Lying still and sleepy, I read your lazy eyes, I wonder what I would say, wonder what I would mean if I read myself. And so I lie and ponder. My glassy blue eyes, glazed over with the freshness of waking… the world slightly blurry yet each detail is immersed in the soft slimy tissue of my brain- like the green of your eyes, the way the flattened daffodils beneath you enhance their bright glow, and the gold flashes reflect in them are illuminated as they search the walls, resisting the urge to drown in my ocean-ed eyes. The way your hair always slices your eyelashes, you’ll shake your head but they remain, divided by the short black strands are clumped by sleep, which has yet to be dispersed into the morning. The pinkness of your lips, pale and full in the early morning… you had gnawed on them throughout the night; secret worries haunting your dreams. Swollen they rest together, sleeping, quietly they recoup. The crevices in them act as reservoirs, adding glow to the solemn dull of your face. The rose in your cheeks hasn’t yet bloomed; the muscles are still numb. I see the twitch, next to your nose, like a rabbit waking. Pins and needles, slowly frolicking on your skin; you squint, uncomfortable.
My hand is lifted from the warmth of the sheet… I touch your face, surprised by the warmth, and smooth the twitch. Your eyes search for meaning then are sucked back into the tide. I’d waited for this, yearned for it. You blink your eyes, a shorter instant than expected for the sting’s there too; it’s there when you shut them for shelter, and when you open them the brightness circumvents the pupils- now doing a jig inside the film protecting them. They retreat, then charge at the tiny veins the red liquid is filling. They are unsure-unsure of the dancing ovals of darkness. Still they swiftly engulf the eye… the morning rage.
My thumb is still lulling the twitch back in place but I carefully watch the battle occurring and you watch me…watching you. Blink, blink-blink; tears wash out the poison and overflow onto my thumb. I feel your tears, and somehow I find my eyes stinging, my nose burning, and my eyes blink, blink blinking to produce a tear. It rolls down; your finger springs to catch it, before it dives into aerial suicide. Two tears: for every tear that falls from your eye… one falls from mine.
The camera pulls back, rears like a stallion, and I see myself now, I watch myself now. Drowning in you… drowning in the lush green in your eye, falling into the field. Tumbling down the hill… unafraid of any rocks… unafraid of any holes… there is no danger on your hillside. Like your finger you’ll spring up to catch me if I slip towards aerial suicide.


Thanks guys!!

Comments

[caddyman.livejournal.com]

I think parts of this piece have a quite lyrical quality, but then it moves off into a more prosey style.

That doesn't always work, but in context I think maybe it does here, because of the just waking, still partly asleep feel.

I wasn't sure about the soft slimy tissue of my brain image though; not quite sure what you were going for there - it seems somehow out of place.

But overall, cool.

[romney.livejournal.com]

...and ambiguous. Towards the end it seems you may be describing watching a waking partner from whom you gain security (who catches your tear) yet up to that point the piece could equally have described watching a waking child.

Or, perhaps the narrator is the child, watching their waking parent...

Either way, I'll agree with Caddy that "soft slimy tissue" doesn't quite fit.

Thanks!