The Glassblowers

Glass
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The last time
was in the en-suite bathroom;
a wretched, accidental collision
in full view of the purple counterpane
and the torn loneliness of the antique bed.
 

The damp-freckled mirror bore witness
to frantic, tear-drenched kisses
as hands traced half-clothed contours
and fingers mapped crevices
that had lain untouched for months.
 

Fumbling in the heat of our howling,
in the suffocating sand of our gulping sobs,
we scrambled, trying desperately
to grasp the absolute death
of all that we knew.
 

Cradled in that granite womb;
out of the grief of our blown-glass past
and the furnace of an uncertain future
we traced the ancient shapes
of everything we were about to lose.
 
 

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2 Comments

Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

2 responses to “The Glassblowers

  1. I loved both the descriptive and the cryptic words you used to play out your passion. beautiful

  2. this is beautiful, and deeply saddening. i love the imagery in it… the brittleness and fragility of glass, a broken relationship and the imagery of future furnaces… what will the future hold? what will remain, be reshaped into something else.

    deeply personal, and beautifully written – thank you for sharing. xx

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