you were cold at the museum

[piñata heart]

you were cold at the museum

i waited for you
in the lobby,
reading the paper.

you showed up
in a skirt,
and your alabaster legs
were like white sand
peninsulas
for my exploring.

but my fingers were
stained with news print ink,
and i didn't want
to smudge them.

[Violet]

If you'd looked more
carefully,
you'd have seen
I was cold,
and you'd have taken
your jacket, the one that's
frayed at the sleeve, and
placed it over my
shoulders...
I'd have warmed up
after that... I'm
sure of it

[Marisha]

you were cold at the museum

i waited for you
in the lobby,
reading the paper.

you showed up
in a skirt,
and your alabaster legs
were like white sand
peninsulas
for my exploring.

but my fingers were
stained with news print ink,
and i didn't want
to smudge them.

Hello, may I make some comments. imho "alabaster" is one of those poetry words used by people trying too hard to be poetic!! ! Also I don't really enjoy the image of legs being like sand peninsulas. Sorry. I wish there had been something about the relationship here instead of just a story about inky fingers which was a bit twee for my taste!

One last thing. The way you have written it reads as the fingers getting smudged. I presume you meant her legs but you would need to make changes to it to make that clearer.

Marisha

[Violet]

... I do have to say, ph, that Marisha's comments, objectively speaking, are of value with this particular poem... I'd been thinking of "diagnosing" the poem a bit myself, but felt, well, a bit tired at the prospect, and thought to address what I thought of as the sentiment of the poem instead... this might in fact have been laziness on my part... or just my desire to have some fun... (or both, probably)...

fondly,
v i o l e t

[piñata heart]

A thousand pardons, my sweet Violet. I had no idea. We men tend to keep our heads safely tucked away in our…well…you know what I’m getting at. From now on, my famous blue frayed-coat is yours. Whether it’s draped around your delicate form, or protecting your feet from those villainous mud puddles.

Thanks to the both of you for the criticism. It’s a rather old piece and, now that I look at it with fresh eyes, it’s kind of a hot mess. At the time, I was really just going for the sentimentality. Not much focus on story. I was also trying for a double meaning with the title. My feeble attempt at being clever.

-ph

[Violet]

A thousand pardons, my sweet Violet. I had no idea. We men tend to keep our heads safely tucked away in our…well…you know what I’m getting at. From now on, my famous blue frayed-coat is yours. Whether it’s draped around your delicate form, or protecting your feet from those villainous mud puddles.

-ph

... oh, a man after my heart... especially with those villainous puddles everywhere... and will you write me fervent love letters at four in the morning?... (just to see if I'm better)... Okay, I don't think Leonard meant that song as a love letter, exactly... although I do believe there's still music on Clinton Street... just saw a play there, actually, that had jazz in it...

... oh... did you ever go clear?..

... anyway, I think I am living for nothing now... deep in my own manner of desert... and my writing here, well... is just my form of keeping some kind of record...

yours upon these blackened pages...
v i o l e t... (dreamily procrastinating
before getting down to some... uh...
work...)...