Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2009

To Make Myself a Perfect Form

by Terri Metcalfe

To make my self a perfect form, in your eyes,
I would give you mine,
And you could see my world, with you in it.
You'd know how sometimes I look straight into the Sun,
It reminds me how you blinded me,
Threw brilliance on shade.
Your mouth; lips when parted,
I could almost breathe your essence,
Were they mine, could I kiss them,
Then I'd steal a part of it,
And take it back somewhere
To nurture till it learned to give in.
The hollow on the inside of your wrist,
Like God Himself had placed His blessed thumbprint there,
And then the other side,
Where it jutted out in perfect unison.
What would its hand feel like?
If only you'd release its burden on me.
As I felt your back,
Each vertebrae a perfect chiselled button,
I wished to undo and step into your soul.
I'd search around for a while, learning what might be missing,
And how I could replace it.
I thought how a ribcage must feel so close to your core.
The veins in your neck,
Vivid life and pulsing blue,
That carried closely guarded nectar to your heart,
No matter how I traced them,
Would never bring me there though,
I know no passion like your blood.

Added: 09.04.2009