Melody

I heard a melody
in the mourning wake
of exhaustion.
 
Thought I found a way out.
Words stopped their flow
            	their trickle – viscous
                            	down my throat
 
Fearing the disappearance of air
but curious.
 
 Isn’t it a beauty?
The intonation, the mood of being
          underneath
         In her ghost.
         In his shadow.
         In my belly.
            Buried.
 
My poor Melody. 



Copyright - Audrey Rosengreen - 2019

Full of Shit

I can’t help thinking of you.
Your eyes, umber, do not move
when I say:
“mirrors open up
to a parallel universe”.
Your smile reflects
my foolishness though
you remain un-phased.
Instead you stir me
as I have un-stirred you.
You own me, lovingly –
without restriction to
my oddities in question
en masse. Yes, you move me
to a place beyond parallels.
Where our lips meet
between glass and past
the meaning of eternity.

“You’re full of shit” you say
and kiss me harder.  

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2019 ~ For my love. 

The Last Time

It’s just like the last time –
worse though, I think
because nothing comes to mind
mind you, when I’m minding
my business as intended.
Emptiness bubbles up
from an empty well and I
wonder, well, how can that be?
There’s always something
in the emptiness, I mean.
I blame it on the happy.
Casually dying –
freely, absolutely.

I don’t mind it much, though.
It subsides like
fire on scattered weeds,
no place for me to feed.
And that’s just fine, I think.
Right, just fine. Yet, so
unlike the last time.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2019

Gibberish

I am another body perpetuated in a litany of the same old-
	same old words littered on stolen images. Hackneyed
like the rest of you. My words run as deep as the waste bin,
pooling at the edges -
	Did you know
freckles become the reminders of stupidity
built en masse by the eyes who adored me - relied on the way I
can open my body like the atmosphere. Catching fire
to pollutants - the way it burns reminds me of home. 
	I have a secret
that I can only spell here. This place that's gone
cold with dead quotations - wisdom lost on misspelled repeats. 

I still want to open. To bloom red against the darkening sky
and hit the Earth until I am one with it.
				
					Comfort them when they weep.



© Audrey Rosengreen, 2019

A Few Haiku

Parched, pink, supple skin

tastes of salt and strawberry.

Like countless late nights.

—–

Fingers dance as one –

mirrored hands like those around

us. We are ghosts here.

——

Soft moans carry sound

through tepid summer nights. You

birth fire* to the air.

 

© Audrey Rosengreen, 2019

____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

*I understand the ambiguity of the word fire being used as both a one syllable word or two. In this case it’s one… so it fits of course. : P