New York City skyline at night

Poetry

 

 


Lynn Patmalnee


Birthday Song

I waived my right to suicide
the night I realized
music makes heat waves,
keeps summer breathing
inside my wintering ears.

Now forty-four years
wave goodbye,
wave calendar pages
like hankies in the second line.

Time's crime wave
against necks, breasts,
minds rages on; still
I skinny dip in radio waves,
mortality glistening
on my singing skin.

(The Berkeley Poetry Review)

 

For D. — Summer 2008

Your kiss —
white handkerchief
smeared with sunset —
tents my breath.

After so many
seasons struggled,
I inhale
the pink chloroform
of bliss.

 

The Blue Room 2 AM

Light pours down my
Open throat,
Neon sweet as Pixy Stix.
Give me a taste of your halo;
It's dim, but I bet it's delicious.
No one else here savors the fading — come on —
Give me a taste.

(San Pedro River Review)

 

 

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