Jacob Partlow
A Lover’s Note
Her eyes are as blue as the deep sea
As green as the fauna
As warm as a hot cup of tea
And as eager as the approaching dawn
Her smile is as white as snow
As brilliant as the stars above
As subtle as the ground below
And as pure as a dove
Her hair is as dark as the moonless sky
As fluent as waterfall
As short as a second gone by
And as delicate as a china doll
Her skin is as pale as the moon
Her lips are as red as wine
Her posture straight as a clock’s hand at noon
And her heart beats as if it were mine
It begins with
her hands,
ivory fixtures carved by Michelangelo himself
suspended by distant oceanic veins, like roadways home.
the lines on her knuckles, permanent and weary from the repetition of movement
her fingers themselves, like souls that trace her stubborn hair as she
summons her very own existence
It begins with her hands but it is really
her skin,
the porcelain chamber that catches filtered light
soft, and untouched
delicate, but sure, a sari wrapping and holding her together
her neck, a pedestal
holding this face, enveloped and surround by
the cascade that is her hair
catching the light
and reflecting the gold of the sun
high, up on her cheekbones, are constellations of freckles,
a mythology yet to be discovered
if only Orion and Dorado had been there to see the making of
this face
her eyes, like nothing else in this world
the shore of a place far from here
that carries heavy sapphire stones
across the banks of the whites and
into her soul
this face, enveloped and surround by
the cascade that is her hair
catching the light
and reflecting the gold of the sun
I would often like to rest beneath her eyes
and trace her petal lips
before they fall and met my hands,
her hands.
it begins with her hands
but I find myself assured it's her all.
Stephanie Martin
His toes are hairy, like an animal’s. His feet are large, much like a clown’s.
His legs resemble a supermodel’s: long, too thin
(Except his have hair).
His hips are angular – they jut out like the coffee table that surprises you in the dark.
His stomach is a flat, hard expanse, like cardboard or glass.
So is his chest.
His shoulders house arms as long as tree branches.
His head sits on his neck, just like everyone else’s.
His lips, his cheeks share the color of the rest of him
coffee overwrought with too much cream.
His nose protrudes, like a fairytale witch’s.
His eyes, his hair, the color of dirty rainwater.
However, all things combined make for something much like the saying “greater than the
sum of its parts”. And the parts, and the sum, I am lucky to call mine.
Sadhna Samantarai
He caught me with his gently pressing tongue of steel dipped in poison
His tongue of saintly curses and sweetly tainted lies
He caught me with the cipher of his mind, of sensible rationality,
A mind that finds and defines beyond all confinement
He caught me with his warm freshly-scented blanketing arms of comfort
He caught me with his flexing stonewall arms of passion
He caught me in his soft, worn from labor and soap hands,
His smooth as the spotted pebble at the bottom of the creek hands,
His callused bear paw hands
He caught me with his spices and honey voice,
His bass to my treble voice,
His voice of war drums and charming peace offerings
He caught me with his sea-deep eyes,
His green with the forever-ness of an endless field of evergreens eyes,
His puppy dog trusting eyes
He caught me in the bars of his caging lashes
He caught me with the passing breeze from his showcase racehorse legs
He caught me on the tall shoulders of a sycamore tree,
On the broad shoulders of a battered castle,
On the bursting shoulders of giants forced into dollhouses
He caught me in the flowing rivers that spiderweb his wrists,
In the scar that runs its vertical track three inches down his left eyebrow
He caught me in the sprinkles of freckles that liven his boyish face with joy
He caught me in the blades of grass that form each brow into a solemn manly arch
He caught me in the rise and fall of the tides of his back
He caught me in the comforting curve of his neck of grandmother’s hips
He caught me with a chest of a wide mother tree trunk, withered yet fierce after hundreds of years
He caught me in the intricate labyrinth of his untidy raven hair
He caught me snared in the rose’s thorns scattered on his cheeks and chin
He caught me in the dark chocolate warmth of his sculpted body
He caught me in the devilish smirk dancing on his angel’s lips
He caught me in his angel’s lips
He caught me in his lips
He caught me
Kelley Paugh
My beloved reptile, Blues Traveler
Your fingers borrowed a frayed section of spider web as their base
And grafted on gnarled chicken claws for finger tips
The space between your eyes is a child’s slide off your nose
The same eyes that are olives removed of their pimentos
And are split into two hemispheres by the slit of a cat’s eye
You have nostrils that are the holes poked into a microwaved potato
And are also caves nestled in the peak of Half Dome Mountain
Your skin is of a baby with jaundice
Haphazardly spattered by black ink
Your age is a redwood tree 1,000 years in diameter
With many years left to grow
Your elbows are ball bearings textured with rust
Attached to the weathered handles of boat oars
The bumps on your flesh are bubble wrap
But also sprinkles on an ice cream cone
With scales that are ridges in clay
Your stomach is the soft, white belly of a harp seal
With your innards visible through x-ray
Your tail is a malformed sausage
Or even a finger with a tumor in the middle
Either way, your tail is a plump fruit advertising ripeness
Bridged to the body by a fallen log
Your movement is a snake swimming upriver
A worm perpetually wriggling into a tight hole
Your mouth is the mouth of a pink oyster shell
Hiding a tongue of stretched salt water taffy
Your ears are shallow roadway tunnels through a skull
Emptier than my feelings could ever be for you
Your head is a lumpy heart-shaped rock found on the beach
That some may argue whether it is actually heart-shaped or not once found
You are a leopard of the desert
Faster than the sunrise that colors your exterior.
