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mother that isn't mine

lemon scented kitchen
hand painted flower glasses
iced tea with a shot of orange juice
let me collapse in your arms
mother who is not mine
like a brittle vine
that wraps around brick
I have walked in wet cement
with scrapings and curvatures of delusion
I am chiseled away
corrosive, marshland thoughts
your eyes are incandescent
under the soft glow of a middle class kitchen
sizzle of a bug zapper
I am there in its blazing storm
capture me
nest me
cup me in your hands
let me perch from your french manicure

6 May 09

Rated 9 (7) by 1 users.
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Interesting poem indeed.
 — JKWeb

cool. line 15 is not really sweet. but cool. i like the beginning the best.
 — unknown

I think the title would work as "Mother Not Mine."

Interesting take on someone else's mom.  I'd change from to on in line 20.  You perch on things, you don't perch from them.  You could make it fly from but not perch from.

Very cute.  I'm left wondering if she is aware that you have a crush.  
 — Isabelle5

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