Open Weekly

Below is a poem I wrote at the end of my senior year. The topic of this piece is open for interpretation.

I hope you enjoy; please leave your comments below!

– Dahv

 

Her mouth’s a mail slot, slit by envelopes,

Emptied on Fridays by boys (pockets filled

With packs – sometimes gum, sometimes cigars, too)

Who loosen their jeans – belts buckle their knees –

Before one boy holds her like a green torch;

Her white gown curls in the wind and rises

Like a curtain above the boy’s blonde brows.

Underwear, laced and dry, that graffitied her

Dress with pink – a thin trinity – led him

To wonder if the thong could peel like skin of a banana

Down her leg, border

Her heels, and slip off like a hula-hoop.

He felt her fingers fold on his waistline.

Fingertips were wet and tasted like stamps:

He knew this. She opened her mouth, just to

Be filled again with packages: cigars?

No. Candy? No. Envelopes? Maybe so