by RME Thornhill
If your thoughts were skimming stones
Smooth and flat and cold in my palm
Or your hands were a poet’s, wrist deep
Sunk in the buckets of words I keep
If your soul was a wedding ring tarnished
Thrown away in a kitchen sink
Your breath a lake that shrank and swelled
Your promises coins in a wishing well
Your disarranged clothes, my bedsheets
If your dreams were leaves on my forest floor
Or your fingerprints held me like cobwebs
Tightly pinning my arms and legs
If this, or this, or this or that
If a heart could be tamed like a cat
–
RME Thornhill is a poet and author based in Bristol. He has been published in a variety of online and print magazines and performs his poetry regularly.
The Pygmy Giant 
#1 by Freya Morris on February 26, 2012 - 10:05 am
Lovely imagery. Especially enjoyed the lake swelling.
#2 by ramsea on February 26, 2012 - 3:30 pm
like the rhythmic movement towards the end meaningful cuplet
#3 by A Ward on February 26, 2012 - 4:29 pm
Really loved the descriptiveness of this poem.
#4 by Kate Smith on February 27, 2012 - 10:51 am
I really enjoyed this, particularly the image of fingerprints holding like cobwebs. And clothes as sheets. A lovely read.