Poem By Amberlee Carter

slap the beat across his back,
nails strum the strings hard-
tongue contorts, the violation of song-
storm that rises in and out of his chest:
morning sleeps here

I breathe
and beat
between the soft
hues of skin-
pulsate and throb
like the thumb of your heart-
where rainbows begin themselves
in the vapors of your sweat,
then die a full life
spent in shadow

I live
in-between notes and chords,
the song within your lungs,
I long
to follow the inhalation deep
within the folds of your being-
to be
and become
the butterfly that is sprung
from the depths of destruction-

you are the evening song,
yet you recreate the world
within the vibration of my womb-
gravitationless and starless,
you spit light-years into existence
that sprout millenniums and
spark human eclipse-

a tear against God's iris,
you are tragically delicious
in a thousand shades of night
that is the whitest tone of darkness-
love me still,
love me still,
love me into stillness-

for I am the darkness and you,

you are the universe

Comments about Lover

I always make my woman wear boxing gloves so they dont scratch me Close encounters of a third kind, but i like it takes me back to the good old days Warm regard AJS
Well, I AM speechless. Should have read lover one first, before lover II. Amberlee, I wonder, do you actually have an inkling how good you really are? I am just an amateur critic, trying to learn from Rich and others, but I recognise perfection when I see it. Can we have some more, please? OO H

Rating Card

4,4 out of 5
8 total ratings

Other poems of CARTER

Crawling In My Skin: The Eternal Itch

I take sleeping pills
to anoint the ache,
stay awake long enough
to feel myself float

...Shaving My Legs

....shaving my legs to enya,
it makes me feel clean.
you've got free long distance-
you should visit more often.

Between Two Griefs

last night while I
played in another realm of consciousness,
I felt your hand move against mine,
as if you were reaching out

nser eEding hHre (RrRted)

We were never
traditional lovers-
but we were
very good at being

Chronic Observatioin Disorder

The quiet wait, contemplate,
the scene- everything it contains,
The mundane, the magic,
the vibrant, the apathetic-

After Erratic Encounters

I woke, awkwardly
in the dim light of morning
to find the world hushed in newborn snow.