Bea Fomin's Poetry Corner


Questions for a Coward

24 April 2020

It’s been over a year now,

Since it was just us.

Secrets spilled out of my mouth,

You scooped them up

And folded me into your bed.

We’re so far from there now.

I had him and you’ve got her.

I thought you were calling me

so I disconnected all other lines

And now you don’t answer.

My mind was clearer when things were unsaid.

You didn’t make any promises

That I am too far gone to see through.

And now you run away from your words so fast that

they are illegible through the mud.

I wonder what you say to her,

The things you’ve said to me

Don’t make sense. You say it’s too hard,

But I was there. And I did it.

Because I am not you.

Why don’t you even try?

You play with your prey like a lion

But the smell of blood makes you sick.

Doesn’t it tempt you, fresh flesh?

You can’t survive on the thrill of the chase.

If you feel the things you say,

What is so wrong with you that you are stuck?

There is nothing wrong with me.

I know that if she knew,

She wouldn’t make you stay.

There aren’t enough metaphors for the things you do,

Or don’t do or won’t do.

There are no metaphors for me. I know what I am

And I know that I don’t want this. Not anymore.



Fall

24 March 2020


One look used to hold every fibre captive

And every second eternal.

One word would roll from your mouth

And taste so sweet that I couldn’t speak.

Power was held in the possibility you presented.

It took one night for you

To vomit out the desires that you share

With every other I have known.

And just like that,

you stepped into the realm of men.

Gods don’t walk among us,

And really I should have known.

I don’t blame you, its nature’s big trick.

You mistook the big smoke

For the clouds of Olympus,

Giving yourself a grand entrance but

Now your hands hold soot instead of me.

Don’t worry, the fall won’t hurt so much after all.



Poem for No One

24 February 2020


Thump, gush, sight. The air electrifies an invisible tether Between us pulses of unsaid might-have-beens course Through veins which swell and surge A single prick would show internal overkill.

Thump, gush, sound. Vibrations emerge from your mouth and crash into my ears Drums beat, the rhythm of the dance is violent But muted. Our melody is begun by one, But falters in the round.

Thump, gush, touch. Fields of magnetism bloom into thoughts racing across planes of skin. Light graze turns to testing press. Both hands falter to turn the detonation keys. Unprepared for the fallout.

Pulses halt as if shot, before evaporating. Connection failed. Drums burst and the music box cracks. Interaction unsustained. Surfaces are cut, bruised, banished. Transaction denied. Thump, gush, splinter, smash.

Scent exists in loneliest moments of togetherness. Pillowcases cradling heads too heavy with wafts of youth, and me.

A taste of the unknown remains just so.

Senses feed organs starved of reason, Running on replays of you.

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