Poem

They don’t make memories like that anymore…

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

The newness of Saturday morning
still lies upon lips.
Pomegranate and mint leaves
perfume the moment.

A drop of water, steady in suspension,
reflects a smile between girl and boy.

This fickle flash,
malleable as smoke circles in air streams,
revives a remembrance
crisp as coal.

You used to say I was a sketch.
Charcoal pencil rubbing white pages.
Unshaded ribbons
around twisted branches.

Now, with misshapen limbs
I separate east from west,
and pretend not to notice
sooted fingertips against earlobe.

Mislaid images of a morning,
fragmented.

I never told you
how I like my coffee.
Didn’t want you to have that piece of me
spread on bread to satiate appetite.

I prefer you drink me,
let me bitter,
scar taste buds,
embed my essence
deep in your mouth
to tongue
until next we meet.

You look at me,
weary eyes across coffee cups.
Without a word,
call me your champion.
Steal a kiss,
tart to taste.

Leave the flavor of this moment,
imperfect,
unfinished,
for me to savor.

“They don’t make memories like that anymore…”is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).

Wing

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

She stretches out,
lifting and lowering,
attempting to blend into background.

The magnificence of blue wing
is impossible to hide.
It is why they watch.

But she has an under coating,
dark brown spots and fine fur
blends to oak bark.

If she holds wings erect,
as opposed to flat,
she materializes to earth.

When she closes
herself to the sun,
like a brilliant iris
hidden by eyelid,
she becomes
her own.

The sparkle of blue metallic,
the flash and grab against sunlight,
is not her downfall,
it is what draws them,

but it is her underside,
the plain spots of ordinary wing
that keep her
free.

“Wing” is previously published in the collection, my verse…, published by Swimming with Elephants Publications, LLC in 2012.

Enamored

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

Kiss my cheek,
a stolen stroke.
The one on the lips,
an enticing request.

I know well the metallic
taste of boundaries.
This mouth,
often denied its hunger.

But tonight,
I am too drunk,
too enamored.
I want to give you a thimble:
memento of me.
Press it in your hand
till it marks your skin.
A subtle indentation,
a tangible reminder,
like the leather I wear
around my ankle,
of the kiss I’ve given.

We could slink into bed,
feel tongue, teeth, tickle.
Your hand on my spine,
salty sweat on navel,
thumb to hip bone.

Or we can just lay beside each other,
my arm draped across your body.
Fingertips graze jawbone,
lips skim fine hairs on shoulder.
We can pretend we are lovers.

Either way,
you will not see me in the morning.
I would like the night to be,
and although it would be sweet,
to retongue last goodbyes
and reform promises,

some revisions aren’t meant to be made.
Some words shouldn’t be taken back.

“Enamored” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014) and Connotation Press (2013).