Wednesday Sep 22

Guarascio Katrina K. Guarascio is a teacher and poet. Her poetry is published in many literary magazines and online journals including Vox Poetica, SP Quill, and Nerve Cowboy. She is the author of two chapbooks: Hazy Expression and More Fire than Sun. Most recently, a book length publication of her poetry, entitled A Scattering of Imperfections, has been released and is available at Amazon and Barnes and Nobel.

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Enamored

 

He says he is enamored,
the word I use is drunk.
Yet it's been a long time
since eyes followed me
in adoration.
Too long since my face
mirrored the sentiment:
Enamored,
Drunk.

He ties leather around my ankle
and plays with my fingers,
distracting speech.
Too enamored to taste the
dark chocolate melting on my tongue.
Too drunk to realize
these devils are not my brood,
just playmates.

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 in marks your skin,
a subtle indentation,
a tangible reminder,
like the leather I wear
around my ankle,
of the kiss I've given.

We should slink into bed,
feel arms, lips, teeth,
Feel your hand on my spine,
Leather around ankle,
chocolate on tongue,
thumb to hip bone,
Drunk.
Or we can lie here,
my arm draped across your body
fingertips graze jawbone,
lips skim fine hairs on shoulder.
We can pretend we are lovers.
Enamored.

Don't be surprised
when you don't see me in the morning.
I would like the night to lie,
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.



Beckoning

 

Start with an overcast day,
shirts untucked,
flapping in the misty sea air.
Gulls floating on currents
chanting curses above a salty chill.

Add the ocean.
The wet sand hard underfoot,
the waves seeping in,
soft foam sticking to our ankles
as the water pulls.

Throw in your arms around my chest,
struggling to secure warmth,
and toes, curling and uncurling,
embedding small flecks of broken down life
in the crevasses between nail and skin.

Finish with the wind taking us forward,
with the waves pulling us out,
instead of the earth holding us back.