Poetry by A.J. Huffman

 

The Smell of Human Love and Hate

 

I would give up the moon

for a piece

of your eyes.

To eat.

Their light would fill me.

Warm.

From the inside.

Of a color

I could never understand.

But I believe

its edges --

so like my own --

would complete me.

If they could reach me.

This low

is safer

from the sun.

But still attached.

By a hopeful string

of gold.

I am too afraid

to touch.

It could be a trick.

A line.

Or a hook.

And I, definitely,

could pass.

As the worm.

 

 

 

Look Into Eternity

 

I

I could turn your picture

into a skin.

Custom-made for my life.

And I would finish it

with wishes

and kisses

and gifts of golden delight.

But there would still be no spot

for me.

My colors would blot

and smear the dream.

I should cut myself out.

Of the frame.

I am sure

your mind

could easily cover

the hole.

 

II

I could turn my skin

into a picture.

A continuous running reel.

Of pleasure.

Of sin.

Where to begin?

I would have to be careful.

To only let a few of my scars

into the frame.

Too many could damage

the page.

Ripping

and spreading.

And pain is such a pain.

Especially when it’s developed.

In the dark.

 

 

 

Hidden in Salt

 

A jar of water

in her fist.

Is the weapon

she believes.

Will free you.

From the mist

of your own eyes.

As she cries.

Everything shatters.

Losing both.

Them and their world.

Is a shower.

Of silence.

And blood.

 

Rate this poetry.

Copyright is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce any part of this article without consent.