Oh, Isabel, so thin and pale--
charm wasted on the breeze
that carries with it the poem’s
dark-hued words that prod the
demon who tells you she’s
no longer in love with you.
***
The girl who kissed you delicately
on the mouth under the football
field's bleachers last year in the
night when all was dark and damp
and seized your heart in enough
time to wipe your memory of
everything that happened.
***
So, you don’t eat, Isabel
or tend to the Aztec of your
skin so confounding and drunk
on the earth you tiptoe upon.
Closing acts rest upon
your parts strewn apart in
a devilish desire to dervish your
life back to that autumn night.
***
But dying embers weep for
viral excavations that promise
no postage on cards once lost
in the bottlenecks of chaos.
And now you find yourself
on the edge of a precipice
and can now jump with the
vaccination of having finally loved.
About the Creator
Paul Aaron Domenick
My writing speaks for itself, but in exchange with others, it speaks louder. Thank you for reading and responding to my stories. I enjoy reading yours, usually in the middle of the night :-)
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📢 Raise Your Voice Thread: 03/19/2026
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Comments (2)
So beautiful! I love the line a devilish desire to dervish your life back to that autumn night.
Oh, the language of first love. This is so beautifully wrought, even feels elusive on the page. So gentle and quiet. . .