03-01-2018, 06:16 AM
Richard, I do like this. If you don't mind the presumption, I'd like to make a slight suggestion (easier to show than talk through):
There are still moments when snow melts,
ice weakens and cracks, the sky dark
like the nightdress you used to wear
that hung tight against your hips, drooped
in the front, felt soft against my stomach.
Your snoring used to keep my warm,
but now you sleep alone like a prisoner,
the key lost long ago along with the jailer.
Winter night sneaks through window and door,
even reaching under my blankets.
So this is just another ending for us.
We're sick from words like “forever,”
this page not our first deathbed.
~~
I think S2 is a better lead. The first line of S2 is more evocative and it gets to the relationship sooner. I'm also tempted to suggest you cut your last line and end on forever.
I realize I didn't go into much detail but hopefully its helpful anyway.
Best,
Todd
There are still moments when snow melts,
ice weakens and cracks, the sky dark
like the nightdress you used to wear
that hung tight against your hips, drooped
in the front, felt soft against my stomach.
Your snoring used to keep my warm,
but now you sleep alone like a prisoner,
the key lost long ago along with the jailer.
Winter night sneaks through window and door,
even reaching under my blankets.
So this is just another ending for us.
We're sick from words like “forever,”
this page not our first deathbed.
~~
I think S2 is a better lead. The first line of S2 is more evocative and it gets to the relationship sooner. I'm also tempted to suggest you cut your last line and end on forever.
I realize I didn't go into much detail but hopefully its helpful anyway.
Best,
Todd
(03-01-2018, 03:37 AM)Richard Wrote: Why I Don't Sleep Naked Anymore
Winter night sneaks through window and door,
even reaching under my blankets.
Your snoring used to keep my warm,
but now you sleep alone like a prisoner,
the key lost long ago along with the jailer.
There are still moments when snow melts,
ice weakens and cracks, the sky dark
like the nightdress you used to wear
that hung tight against your hips, drooped
in the front, felt soft against my stomach.
So this is just another ending for us.
We're sick from words like “forever,”
this page not our first deathbed.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
