where my feet touched
gossamer, sandalwood, and petrichor
gossamer, I let this body be home to everyone but me
sandalwood incense and petrichor knocking on doors and
drifting around the halls, my tongue tangled cherry stem sweet
moss growing where my wet feet touched the breathing floor
dancing footsteps slapping the mahogany, anklets clinking eternally
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Enjoyed? This poem was created for the following challenge:
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About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. nostalgia and other affairs of the heart).
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More stories from R.C. Taylor and writers in Poets and other communities.
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith3 days ago in Humor
Comments (2)
What a power packed punch of a poem.
This evoked a vision of slavery in an ethereal world for me. Potent and restricting. Nicely done, R.C.