Cryptic Twists

     Every edge has its own figure of speech,
               so each
     split fits as its thigh's hinge unfolds.
                    Word holds
     its breath.  Hot muscle wraps cold bone,
                         its own
     expression love's last reserved unknown.

     If one is open, another keeps its grip
     beneath a tongue, moistened on the lip,
          so each word holds its own.


2 Responses to “Cryptic Twists”

  1. 2010.11.06 at 3:29 am

    “each split fits as its thigh’s hinge unfolds”

    Sara, first off, I see you on PA all the time and comment there. But here, I can tell you without hurting anyone’s feelings:

    It is so rare to find a poet who not only writes from the deepest corners of her heart, but who punctuates correctly. It’s disconcerting for a copy editor like me to try to read poorly worded, badly edited poetry.

    I’m not saying I don’t commit errors myself in my zeal to post, but the simple wording of that phrase, which is fraught with the “its/it’s” and “thighs/theighs/thigh’s” pitfalls, is proof that you write with care.

    Just had to tell you that! Hope to see you on my blog as well as continuing the PAD. Write on! Your friend, Amy BL

    • 2 sarachnid
      2010.11.06 at 12:31 pm

      thank’s smiles & smile’s thanks! – i’d’ve never made it as a copy editor since i’m only good at knowing all my imperfections but not so good when there’s theirs to see – know it’s at its own’s best when it’s on its own, no?

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