by Amanda Rabaduex
There is something like a choir inside you
accompanied piano strings
Why do you raise your eyes skyward?
I want you to kiss me –
I want to taste the aura of you like a red delicious
plucked from the August tree
Lips for prodding skin tongue to enfold
the core of the chord.
I want to feel how atoms of flesh
sound when pulled apart
split like the unbuttoning of a blouse
What is song
if not vibration of surrender
a day opening to dawn
Put your ear to this heart elusive nucleus
You’re never close enough.
Amanda Rabaduex is a writer, educator, and Air Force veteran. Her poetry and creative non-fiction have appeared in several publications and received a nomination for the Pushcart Prize. She is pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Wilkes University, and she is the current poetry editor of River and South Review. Originally from Ohio, she now lives near the Smoky Mountains.
Emerge Literary Journal 