Tonight's Poet Corner: Let The Paramour Wear Gold
Let The Paramour Wear Gold
by Belinda Roddie
Love took the shape of a snake
in the bathtub, scaring the color
out of an old lady's face. It curled
in cursive on a post-it note stuck
to a textbook belonging to the
college professor. When it got
too cold, it wound itself around
someone's throat, trying to be a scarf but
instead tightening like a noose. And
you were there, and you saw how
it struggled to take a form that was
gentle and elegant and charming
and refined, all in the same hour,
at the same damn time.
by Belinda Roddie
Love took the shape of a snake
in the bathtub, scaring the color
out of an old lady's face. It curled
in cursive on a post-it note stuck
to a textbook belonging to the
college professor. When it got
too cold, it wound itself around
someone's throat, trying to be a scarf but
instead tightening like a noose. And
you were there, and you saw how
it struggled to take a form that was
gentle and elegant and charming
and refined, all in the same hour,
at the same damn time.
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