116 of 125

by Jami Gibbs

The color of your hair smells confusing.
Folded inside its own beauty,
Writhing through its tiny follicles,
Screaming at those closest to their softness,
Wanting to break out of this scalp.
Those squirts of memories coming up
And making them sway this way and that.

If they could jump into my throat,
Wrap themselves around my voice,
Move the muscles to their liking,
Form a breath and push it past my tongue.
They would say...

A secret would finally be my light.
The part in your hair, just as all is clear.
My eyes walking that path from
The forehead to the end of your neck.
Under the impression that I will
Have to take it forcefully.
Stomp my feet around until you couldn't take it anymore.

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Poetry: Heartache

by Jami Gibbs

Poetry: Heartache

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