Poetry, Idle Moments

I wrote this a little over a year ago. It's very suggestive, which is not common in my writing. Yet the image I had in my head while writing it was so peaceful and innocent, which is interesting. My creative writing teacher told me this was "beautifully languid" but then basically deemed it crap because he couldn't tell what was going on in it, that there are too many "he, she, and it's" and no real subject. I didn't know how to explain that the poem was written based on a fleeting feeling of deja vu.

Anyway, I normally don't share this sort of stuff, unless it's anonymous, so if you're reading this blog, tread lightly please...


A whiff of my boundary stood thick in the air
Of a humid night,
Silently writhing within a glaring stare.
Sitting there, her curls stuck to her moistened cheek
And her long layers, softly lingering, fell loosly upon her knee.
Standing air,
That thick wall of separation,
Cut the room in two
And blue, I could barely see you
Witnessing my fascination.
Her image fades from my thoughts at night
As chances of being caught,
Aloof in my mind,
Raise high the roofbeams of exhausted time.
And threaded flowers decorate this desertion of life and vigilance
Rested atop a decrepit pedestal of lofty sentiment,
As the memory of a lost summer day -
Of a rotating metal fan
That does not cool
but gently freshens the glistening speckles on her heat-heavy chest -
Whispers of this sweetly envisaged scene.
Amidst the thick, she sits:
Sticky skin from the beating sun,
thighs and shoulder blades pressed against all that's beneath,
Arms espoused with her weathered wooden chair,
Shiny and slick, basking in the afternoon haze.