All tagged Poetry

The Game

The whole world seems to hold its breath as they wait,

Poised like statue versions of their usually energetic selves

Their legs itching to run

Their arms itching to sweep the ball into the back boards of the goal

The air is cold and crisp, adding an extra pep in everyone’s step,

And the sky is a perfect watercolor


 Falling, floating down, the leaves of Saratoga, yellow and brown. Upon dreary students humbled by grades and papers. 


A drop of the jaw in awe; A. A tap of the tongue behind teeth where it and gums meet; li, the sound of sex where the mouth’s roof and tongue make love; s, to a feisty halt of clenched teeth, on.




My love. My princess.