God-Shaped Things

by

Crystal Dawn Allen

Our smiles are so cold and basic, so crystalline
we turn old and silver with it and disappear,
folding over and over into ourselves
until we become stone, or like stone.

They touch us and we shiver, not from delight or fear
but from the strangeness of touch itself...
physics of the pale skin, skin that is always exposed,
skin that knows nothing but winter, and nothing burns
save for memories of that summer.

Where in time did we lose the sunlight,
the days becoming longer and more shy,
every breath and gesture increasingly small and complicated,
every embrace painful in the need for warmth
or in the loss and expenditure of energy.
Where did the sunshine go, a fiery Ophelia drowning beneath
the horizon, exinguishing itself in shadows
and replaced by a new silence
studded with squinting and suspiscious eyes.

Now you eyes meet mine
and when they do,
they crash through the space between,
shattering the air like bullets through fragile beings.

Maybe it was never the love that was so venomous,
or the longing that stung so hard;
maybe it was something more.

Like a poisonous kitten or toxic smoke,
it curls into the mind
curing the heartache,
but stealthily implanting the lust for
God-shaped things,

and the need becomes flesh,
becomes violent and golden,
and is insatiable,
and is as nothing else will ever be.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at The Office
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

To visit all of Crystal Dawn Allen's poems, click HERE

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