The Life of a Grape

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The Life of a Grape

 

A glass cloud is your new mask:

Inhaling the sweet fumes

you drift, sailing on sweet melting

laughing intoxicated loving

the surreptitious grip of bodies glued together

tethered to lover’s language,

the kinetic threat to snap the string at any second;

Fingers confusing hair and skulls meeting,

your eyes two suns, blooming, alive,

a hum now lies in the palms of your brain’s edges

where lazuli speaks;

A slow trembling licks your coils – a caveat

that you carry on fingertips through every door;

You suck on it;

Like the skin of a grape

ruptured it spreads liquid secret fire

filling every crevice until even your legs

open to it.

 

Then biting bitters spat

from the boundaries of teeth you snap back –

The glass introduces a pane of spider webs

you put your lips against

just to make them bleed –

You spill, and a similar hand to home slaps

the cheek you just kissed –

A fetus floats dead in the canyons between you,

a bell jar sucking each Sunday morning memory in,

amber fingernails of aggression and every other relative

corroding your skin until even breath is bile

like empty weight.

 

Knees melting and meeting the ground,

warm remorse sighing from spaces between

tender tumbling of whispers,

pooling of feathered breath on your neck,

cocooning in the web of past words

spattered like tapestries on the wall,

You transform: together,

meeting at the edge of the moon,

sinking into liquid musings,

eyes open to each other under water, understanding,

the gentle sting between you binding your bodily babble

now with tighter tethers and softer blends.

 

The cloud enfolds you again,

thicker, sweeter, silver

 

Escaping Contained Plexopathy

 

Outside this saying

fiction unweights but

I have nothing to say

at all

 

All these:

echoes of happenstance released,

offerings to the emptiness after –

Selah! to the True Author –

 

Where that wailing eagle sings

reminding my passion, waking.

What is this capacity

newfound in silence?

 

Both eyes closed to see

with the other

widening rings,

I drink

 

This reflection, the love

inside love

the deep light

without beauty within,

 

A resurrection

and hazy melting

Tender and fragile

and nearly blank

 

The sky my spirit circles in –

Formless and infinite

 

Voyeur

 

I fall in love

for sixty-seven

Seconds at a time:

 

Smile choirs filling

the gap like umbrellas

swooshed inside out

 

Azure eyes cradling

the sea inside a skull

hovering in the corner

 

The spillage of lip’s

isthmus over the edge

of ruby fired clay

 

Hands like stars

proudly protruding

from weathered wrists

 

Laughs mimicking

melodies appealing

to the angelic

 

Sharp shoulders sheltering

the spears and flames

of love’s artillery

 

All these bodies

possessed by light

a part of me apart from me.

 

What does it mean to fascinate

so easily, to hypnotize

even the trees?

Chelsea studied Art History and Classics at UVA and graduated in 2012. She currently divides her time and interest between the controlled chaos of two restaurant jobs, reading Buddhist philosophy and other fiction with tinges of Neopsychedelia, freelance writing for Cville Weekly, experimenting with oil and water color painting, participating in a work study at Bikram Yoga Charlottesville, and experiencing liberation of spirit through music, hula hooping and dancing. She considers herself a lover of the arts and an advocate for healthy, beautiful lifestyle full of laughter, happiness, and expression.

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