Sleepovers in Cinemascope

[AisforApple]

Sleepovers in Cinemascope


"We're friends, right?" Your hands find their place on my waist,
hiding in my t-shirt the way puppies hide in the ballooning sheets of a made bed.
"Best friends?" Your mouth lays on my skin like wrapping paper
litters the floor of a christmas morning.
The overture for Spartacus bellows in the next room
to empty seats and full cups of coffee that have since gone cold.
We were fools for thinking we could actually watch a three hour movie
before ending up on the floor, black jeans balled up in the corner,
bruises on bruises and tattoos on tattoos.
You press a warm dry palm against the compass rose on my back
and trace every direction from my ribs to my tailbone.
"This one's my favorite", you whisper into the well of my collar
as the wasps fly away and die against the window.
Your medical tag falls out of your shirt and lays a cold kiss on my neck.
I faintly hear Spartacus through the walls, being sold into slavery.

[UnicornRainbowCake]

First off, well done, this is a strong poem that tackles it's themes very well.

"We're friends, right?" Your hands find their place on my waist, Perhaps use a stronger phrase than find their place? It sounds like they are fit to be there, like they're linked in matrimony (bad choice of words myself)
hiding in my t-shirt the way puppies hide in the ballooning sheets of a made bed. I'm not sure if it would be more effective without this line, the imagery is a bit misleading to me
"Best friends?" Your mouth lays on my skin like wrapping paper
litters the floor of a christmas morning. Love this, it really gets across her feelings on what he's doing
The overture for Spartacus bellows in the next room
to empty seats and full cups of coffee that have since gone cold.
We were fools for thinking we could actually watch a three hour movie
before ending up on the floor, black jeans balled up in the corner,
bruises on bruises and tattoos on tattoos. Maybe 'I was a fool' instead? 'We' sounds very...together, distorting the meaning in it all
You press a warm dry palm against the compass rose on my back
and trace every direction from my ribs to my tailbone. My favourite part
"This one's my favorite", you whisper into the well of my collar
as the wasps fly away and die against the window.
Your medical tag falls out of your shirt and lays a cold kiss on my neck.
I faintly hear Spartacus through the walls, being sold into slavery. The last line really rounds it back up, and explains the mystery of Spartacus, a real strong image

[serge gurkski]

mild critique! May i be allowed to chuckle? :-)

I could tell by just scanning the title of this wonderful piece of art
that nothing but brilliance would unfold as a necessarry consequence of my hitting the button to the right of the page just that very same click away.
This cutie of a text - to steal from Byron - "walks in beauty" through my bebopping brain.

What's left to say?

(de) rien

= my pleasure
= I am pleased

à la votre,
à la poètesse


congrats to Ais

(this sleepover had a walk-over)

[AisforApple]

Thank you to both of you Unicornraindbowcupcake for the helpful critique, and Serge for the kind words.

[serge gurkski]

("Unicornraindbowcupcake" <------ hahaha, (plz don't slap me, unicorn, You are a fine cambridge/uk poet, but i can not not grin. ,-) )

[billy]

hi apple
not much in the way of constructive feedback.

maybe put the quoted parts on their own lines. the narrative is well done
and it's lacking in cliche maybe the 1st two simile's could be better worded though they do their job adequately. i like the way the poem began though think you could have carried the moment by splitting the line
"We're friends, right?"

Your hands find their place on my waist,

thanks for the read,

Sleepovers in Cinemascope


"We're friends, right?" Your hands find their place on my waist,
hiding in my t-shirt the way puppies hide in the ballooning sheets of a made bed.
"Best friends?" Your mouth lays on my skin like wrapping paper
litters the floor of a christmas morning. Christmas
The overture for Spartacus bellows in the next room
to empty seats and full cups of coffee that have since gone cold.
We were fools for thinking we could actually watch a three hour movie
before ending up on the floor, black jeans balled up in the corner,
bruises on bruises and tattoos on tattoos.
You press a warm dry palm against the compass rose on my back
and trace every direction from my ribs to my tailbone.
"This one's my favorite", you whisper into the well of my collar
as the wasps fly away and die against the window.
Your medical tag falls out of your shirt and lays a cold kiss on my neck.
I faintly hear Spartacus through the walls, being sold into slavery.

[UnicornRainbowCake]

("Unicornraindbowcupcake" <------ hahaha, (plz don't slap me, unicorn, You are a fine cambridge/uk poet, but i can not not grin. ,-) )

Did you not know that unicorns commonly roam the fens around the Cambridge area, serge?

Anyway, I don't think I stressed this enough in my first post. I LOVE this poem. I also had to google how long Spartacus was, 3 hours...no wonder they gave up on it