So, Christopher cooked up a new little game for us to play.
We each take turns choosing a word, and then we both have a week to write a poem that includes that word.
He went first and chose Abracadabra.
I wrote this:
In the disarming anecdote served
like a succulent souffle
by my subconscious storyteller,
your mortal coil - having
recently shuffled loose - lay in state
in a bustling room
while a large, imposing screen
displayed a montage of memories
that were mine
and mine alone;
the private smiles you delivered
when only I knew to expect them,
your long, stately fingers swiping
liquid angst from my cheeks,
your hand seizing my head,
drawing my brow to your lips
for a prolonged, tender brush
while every person who mattered
bore witness, and my cheeks flushed
crimson with pride
in the name of Love,
and my synapses spilled euphoria
all over my innards,
as though I'd declared a cosmic
and in those luscious, transient seconds?
You were mine.
Years later, I stood stagnant
in an overpriced dress
as I watched your lips congeal
For Better or Worse;
your bliss a jagged wrecking ball,
your blessed union
a wretched demolition.
Comments are warmly invited.
I crave feedback.