alarm clock sounded

his/

fingers reached the ultimatum

her/

wrist strapped to bedpost

silk wounds of a conquered queen

 

last breath of air

from now closed window

his/

typewriter needed to speak

feel fingerpad clatter,

not betrayed with her

 

blank page,

paper pressed his own

rolled into machine,

carbon in place,

smudges

he left as memories

on her breast

 

typing/

words in a clatter

his way of expressing

now what was on pages

before

 

black shine reflected

an eager face

cool metal sat in case

 

he/

extracted thought

twisted them through cerebral tubes

squeezed  out of fingers

smearing machine

 

black gloss dulled

worn/

beaten by him

the other stirred

moving sheets

foot , ankle , white angular

showed

 

if a crow called she would not

hear

ink to letters

passed to page again and again

yearning to create

with a companion

 

he/

knew

as fifth page done,

close to exhaustion

passion being spent

on this machine,

ribbon stretched

key frottage

rubbing,

thumping,

pounding,

word penetration

lasting imprints,

more lasting than

her

dverselogo

 

 

Advertisements
Comments
  1. You really can’t pound a computer, can you?

  2. brian miller says:

    well now…i need to go get me one of those old typewriters and get to work….ha…that was some rather hot writing there…smiles

  3. jasmine calyx says:

    Wow, this is amazing. I love it.

Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s