shamrock eyes

poetic_star's picture

Dublin stars play tag between
Rowan leaves as the plastic
party lights in my room
match their sad glow.
And my dreams are
made of notebook paper,
Adam, cigarette burns
and broken frames of
your stained-berry smile,
glistening with last summer's dewdrops.

I have your favorite pocketknife
stashed away in my closet
under a pile of old wool sweaters
and yearbook photos that
our folks never saw.
Remember, friend,
the carved symbols we left
on that park bench
and the crayon marks, also?
I suppose they're still there,
though I haven't gone to check
and I'll bet you haven't, either.

Adam, I should've made sure
before you drove off to U Pen,
that you knew what we had
here was more than a fling
because now I'm haunted
by what-ifs and should-haves
and they buzz around my head
at night like Fourth of July
mosquitoes chanting
all of my mistakes.

I hate this; I hate how
you're still my kryptonite,
my Celtic flame.
And even now,
it doesn't matter that
we never put a name
to all those nights of
clipped conversations
out on the soccer field;
sentences torn in half
by impatient lips,
hot and fresh like
sun-shaped tattoos
burned onto our flesh.

Adam, tell me, whenever you
confess your sins to a priest,
do you mention
loving the boy next door,
the one with dark hair
like a raven's shield
and green eyes
like shamrocks?
You always were a good sport
about these kinds of things,
never made me feel guilty
for holding you on
my race track coverlet;
my arms wrapped around
your Sagittarian frame,
your head resting on
my thunderbird chest.

Boy, I don't want you
to feel bad, either,
because I'm not ashamed
that we were once
something artistically simple,
devastatingly real.
That's why I don't
believe in any god;
Adam, I believe in you,
believe that you still
think of me between
classes and jobs,
between how many
pretty strangers
you may encounter in college.

Adam, I can almost
taste your secrets in my mouth
as I kiss someone else
on the bleachers and
behind the bookstore
because every time this happens,
I'm really kissing you in my head
and isn't that tragic?

What did you do;
shut me out from the world
with some type
of renaissance magic?
I don't think so.
I think I'm just
living in your shadow,
breathing carnations
in your absence.

Window-glass irises,
sun-bleached arms,
jaw line tainted with pearl raindrops;
boy, you were sin incarnate
as you lay beside me
on the sweat-stained grass
early that wasted
Saturday morning
two years back.
But I was never
sorry I craved the brush of
your lean muscles against
my naive teenage skeleton,
and the way you made me
laugh while burying your cheek
in the space between
my neck and shoulder.

Boy, is it all the same to you now;
empty hours made of
pencil shavings and
bells ringing as people shout
your name down the glass
halls of a brand new life
away from here?

Do you ever wonder, Adam,
if I'm still standing between
a sycamore tree and
a run-down tire shop,
holding a gas pump,
wishing my future
would appear in
the form of my
backwards angel?

Maybe it's time I quit
but who else is there?
Remember how you said,
while puffing on a cigarette,
that we don't belong
to people forever?
Well, now I wish
we did just so I could
drive up there and
surprise you, Adam;
grab you by the shoulders,
say, "I win", and
press my lips against yours
just hard enough to hurt,
feel your Irish bones
crumble beneath my
middle class fingers.

Boy, I'm tired of
breathing gasoline and
store-bought ivy
in your silence.

Comments

elph's picture

Another great one...

Just curious: How long did it take... to get the wording to be so evocative?

poetic_star's picture

umm I don't know lol it

umm I don't know lol it usually takes a few days to get the idea worked out then 1 or 2 hours to write everything in the final draft. but it depends if I already have an idea in mind or if I'm struggling with it. I'm glad you like it :)

Bosemaster42's picture

You never cease to amaze me,

I'd say you're the most prolific writer of evocative poetry and it's part of your style too. Wonderful poem.

poetic_star's picture

I just have too much spare

I just have too much spare time on my hands :P