Katrina Kaye

Your kind of poetry arrives
unexpected at door
worn from the highway,
trailing wet footprints
across my Persian rug.

Road ridden poetry,
put away wet verse
you scribe over living room walls
as they watch us pulse.

I scrawl my kind of poetry
all over your arms and chest,
image heavy
dripping with metaphors you are
free to interpret,
free to wash away.

Lousy poetry.
Two o’clock in the morning poetry.
Dress you up in it
so I can watch you take it off.

You write your poetry
all over my red sheets.
Abrupt words
careless phrases spat
inconsequentially
toward torso
too quick for me to catch.

Heated poetry.
Pull me close in the middle of the night poetry.
Wrap me up in it just to feel it unravel.

I leave my poetry unreadable
on Sunday morning pages.
Trivial lines and selfish verse
residing in the cracks around your eyes.

Soaked in solitude poetry.
Illegible scribbles
of the way the corners of lips
haunt shoulder blades
long after your silhouette
deserts front porch.

“My Kind of Poetry” is previously published in Amarillo Bay (2012) and The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).