Monday evening… Not a bad night for poetry!

Read the newest poem by Vanessa Matic. Care to read some of her words written in the past? Find them here.

THE BODY THE SOUL

I see his face through the pale blueish moonlight.
The memory from long ago, he watches me hold
a pillow to the nude body of my skin. His skin an
aging beauty across his bones. So vivid he is in
this rapture of hallucination, I deceive my eyes. For
they believe this is today, and not from ages ago.
My body bloodless pastel; A blue hue from the moon
shinning into the room. Ashen like the bones, the
bones of my long legs. He would watch these bones,
he would see their feeble dancing, their endless race
to livid morning, a purple bruise of aimless taunting.
Then how each vitality of fruit, kiss, passion, love,
devotion, romance; Each vitality a fruit of bloom.
Like body, like soul, like arms and legs, hair; Face
that changes temperature and gesture, eyes that ignite
their desires and concerns, subtle contusion in lips pulse.
Ardor the limbs intwining like fibers, as existence, as wholly
as a birth, to suckle the stamina of power and weakness, all
our ambition of body, of soul. We are a bloom, a bang, a
vigor of life. The body of us, the body of two lovers, meeting
a beauty as rare as bismuth crystals. How the hips move,
how the lips long for ultimate electricity, and ultimate smile
and tears of the body and soul, the smile and tears that will
defile us only to bring us so generously to each touch.
Imploring our endocrine system to the divinity of the body.
How we move so freely, amongst the pure wet winds,
amongst the nature of earth; A ventures stream of freedom.
I watched with these eyes of mine; His hair beautiful, the scruff
of his beard, his wonderful hands jagged and rough, well
groomed man, his beautiful contours I watch him cry these
tears; As they fall they sound like pins on marble. It is a calm
noise. His body without cloth, the tears across his strong chest
a beating drum of life, to the muscle of his stomach, and they
dissolve there. They dissolve like a snowflake on the tongue,
they dissolve like bittersweetness, they dissolve like turbulent love.
Where do they go? Into the body… into the soul?

Poetry by Vanessa Matic