The Sugar Idea by Lana Bella

I am not a silent poet

She stares 
at her tea cup, 
pristine and 
porcelain stemmed; 
where chamomile 
sits on honey, 
and she mulls 
the day over.
When an idea 
pours down 
her throat, 
a runnel of warmth
shapes her anguish 
into melody.
She chews its fibrous, 
sugar-coated body 
inside cheekbones
like puffed up moons.
As a woman 
who is always late
to be taken in 
by new ideas, 
she let this one marry 
with flowing saliva, 
cloying and broken piles
of perfect slippery things.

View original post


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s