Allergy
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
i think your skin is
born of bumblebees
not the kind that sting
the kind that comb
elbow through mess just to prove that
something can come of chaos
hover hum between flailing and dying
and find honey in the wingspan
of the air between our noses
it baffles me
how a swarm of laughter can silence
every qualm my hands have ever had
how the cacophony of your breath
can drum my thoughts into
the hexagon of your smile
i wish i understood the allergy of distance
the cloud caught truth
that you cant outgrow giants
or mothers scorn
or six hours airborne
wish i could ease with will
the hive that swells lip and flesh
to the knot of stories in our knees
that cant seem to come undone
the ones that fret like fire and
slither like steam
through the thicket of today
they are the seed of you
make my tongue sound spring
and lose the lisp of winter
why is it that women must be linguists
i pray they forget how to spell
long enough to learn the names
of the boys in their back pockets
Shiver
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
there is a shiver of stars
beneath the blue moon of climax
quiet as creed but present as prayer
i wonder if men know the light year
between trust and comfort
the false skip of stone from ear to Jupiter
a sliver of sex shouldering a galaxy
the tales of fancy that twist from wishbone thighs
are two lips shy of honest
but faces feign belief as often as young men sin
women blush like plums
and burst for no good reason
they see the pulp of pleasure in the navel of orange
and the forgiving flesh of mango
beg two eager open hands
too young to know the meaning of defeat
a mother who can teach her son
to peel a fruit with thoughtful fingers
a son who knows a woman is an orchid
with a silk ribbon of tender between her petals
a woman who knows how to fish
the pearl from her oyster without a man
these are the artists of the earth
who paint salvation with their tongues
and mushroom bliss by fingerwidth
but there are still those
who don’t know how to use the brush
float marooned in a sea of wet paint waiting
for the selfish stroke of another
this is for the women who do not rattle
who snake selfless from rapture
for fear of waking the world
for the women who pinch constellations to shine their teeth
and grin only because the moon is telling them to
there is no shame in spilling secret
there is no shame in breaking
in wanting the sea and the sun in the same pant
the orgasm of life was born for the woman
for the pomp of passion
and the want of circumstance
there is no shame in a parade of pansies
cracking at the same supple axis for a bud of joy
and wrestling with the static of thoughtful faces
let them weep magenta
and turn in unison from the December sky
Jostle
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
sometimes i lose my legs in the sphinx of your sexless laugh
in the quiet majesty of crest come retreat
and the cosmic agony of waiting for you on the tail of my tongue
in the golden harmonica threads of your whisper
and the wind sprint of recollection beneath my lips
in the self righteous flight of your two front teeth
and the unchecked turbulence of my stopwatch knees
i want the second hand to dwell in the solar dynamo of your smile
and the fleeting of a Philadelphia skyline
that doesn’t dawn as easily as i thought it might
in the downhill of a moment that makes no promises
past the finite lawn of your skin
rolling down our spines like fickle children
time is platinum pinned to the cushion of not caring for coordinates
and the casual chronicle of a long time coming
its glisten is unsettling
sometimes i lose my arms in the stomach of a seastruck explorer
with little regard for distance or thunder
in the telescope of intimacy and the black hole of your throat
it’s damn near impossible to distinguish
truth from legend
salt from sea
sugar from dust
i find myself conversing
with the clay cracked nomad in your skull
and the clumsy boy in your constitution
you are falling into your own words
and i can’t help but tumbleweed bind my teeth to the
billowed flesh of your parachute persuasion
so i guess i’ll follow you to the earth
you funneling whirlwind of a man
sometimes i lose my thighs in the evolution of historical haunches
and the novelty of a great unearthing
brush me an optimist but
there is a mantle of promise
in the faultless spell of your geography
in the continental question mark of your face
to the California wildfire in your veins
strike me clean to match a forest
to the peaceful lotus in your iris
do you feel like filling me an ocean today
to the castaway in your gaze
and the black pearl in your gut
wash me a juvenile jellyfish and
let me ink my way to heaven on the rhythmic limp of lust
i am looking for rest
in the acrostic of your chest and
the sack of lonely letters in your abdomen
too true you were never permanent
your breath is but a relic
easily held easily broken
i am caught in the cloud of late night delusion
and the hazardous nosedive of believing in an epic
i know it’s dangerous
but i have mastered the art of drawing us
a dreamscape of early morning wonder
that drafts itself deadlock between my wrists
a cat’s cradle of open mouths
that linger lick from the palette of desire
it’s your bright red sincerity
that jostles my bones like gospel
your blue moon composure that reminds me of prayer
and god knows how many nights without it
but i swear could’ve survived this one
without the pull of your religion
sometimes i lose my alphabet in the risk
of spelling your name by mishap
of a reckless crash into like
and the endless jitter of aftermath
in the belly of waxing philosophical between giant hours
and the watershed of angst crouching in the corner
in the discordant rapture of reason and relish
i have always been told to relish the reason
for dying on the edge of humanity
with naked wanderlust eyes glittered grand for the taking
who knew i would find the Pacific
in the undertow of a bedouin soundclash
in all your tall ship teeth and wayward disorder
sometimes i lose myself in the magenta everything of your neck
i am the uneasy sun in the bipolar horizon of your clavicle
not sure whether to rise or set
i find myself believing in the thundercloud theories
you rest your head on just a little bit more than i used to
i can feel them tap the drum of my ear
like a September rain
like a tangerine fountain of youth
all knowing
striking
yet passing our noses all too swiftly like the crisp tongue of autumn
there is nothing more vertigo
than the slope of your receding brow
the endearing rambler in your gesture
and the uncomfortable truism that you are not coming back
For A Friend
Posted by Melissa Pavri | Filed under Poetry, Print
all i could feel was my own stillness
skulking between my bones
dragging the ballad of her sunken chest against my flesh
her pendulum smile was small
skeptical
of place
of light
of face
of time
she mumbled agony between her words
i am fine
i see her crack beneath my gargantuan concern
questions tumbling in stone columns
like the apocalyptic musings of rand
she shrugs and flees to the comfortable gap between her hands
how could this happen i ask
her eyes are dying acrobats
all they know is sweet release and disbelief
recovering air and sweating stars
leaning towards a cosmic precipice
till the giant fists of gravity pummel them into oblivion
her recollections sound like a homesick accordion
and an orchestra of misplaced crickets
frantic and riotous
there is a violence in not knowing
in not wanting to remember
the quiet of his eyes and the footsteps of a moment
when the sky quits and comes tumbling down
on humanity in all its war torn glory
there is something muddled in her composition
the advent of nose to looking glass
she is not quite sure of her anatomy
not as much confidence in her collarbone
no sanctuary in her spine
i wonder if she taught herself how to fall
in the star struck span of a second
holding onto the horizon for dear life
like a jittery sun sinking into oceanic sidewalk
did she notice the pavement was bleeding
when she peeled herself from its deep sea depths
did she lose her earth legs in a titanic shipwreck
and leave her tongue somewhere starboard of protest
i wonder if she knew breath
was a black pearl wonder
too easily taken and
damn near impossible to reconstruct
i wonder if she wished her father was the moon
ever watchful marvel of a man
with a crater for a mouth
and wrinkles that concede the world is ugly
wished he would swallow silence
and never want any more answer
from his slender moonbeam of a daughter
