20131203

Elizabeth Allen



Crush

I carry you with me
you are a possibility inside
me         that I am testing
the slow revelation of your     self
unfolding
thrills me —
the thought that you might touch me
might kiss me
your intention and desire
might reach out to me
I might want your
wanting, everything
might change
our lives might be swept up together in a rush of excitement or it is equally
inevitable
that none of these things happen
my day might go on as normal
shut back         no
touching
no kissing



Redline


We were moving through
levels of emotional intimacy
like quickly
changing
gears.

The only problem was
that neither of us
had ever driven a manual.



Blindness


sometimes you forget i have eyes

you forget i have lips

you forget i have breasts

sometimes you have only hands

i am only

eyes

lips

breasts

sometimes i cannot remember

i cannot find

a map

or a photo

or a note



Ours

After lunch, after sex
the room remembering shape.
Clothes across the floor: t-shirts
still wear jumpers, jeans have socks.

Afternoon leaves us alone
and everything about the day
dims, the way I imagine
it does in prayer.
We enter a sleep that
is wholly ours.



Elizabeth Allen is a Sydney-based poet, events manager at Gleebooks and Associate Publisher at Vagabond Press. Her poetry has appeared in many major literary journals. She is the author of Forgetful Hands (Vagabond Press, 2005) and Body Language (Vagabond Press, 2012), which won the Anne Elder Award.
 
 
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