You come in late, wiping your lips. <br />What did I leave untouched on the doorstep--- <br /> <br />White Nike, <br />Streaming between my walls? <br /> <br />Smilingly, blue lightning <br />Assumes, like a meathook, the burden of his parts. <br /> <br />The police love you, you confess everything. <br />Bright hair, shoe-black, old plastic, <br /> <br />Is my life so intriguing? <br />Is it for this you widen your eye-rings? <br /> <br />Is it for this the air motes depart? <br />They rae not air motes, they are corpuscles. <br /> <br />Open your handbag. What is that bad smell? <br />It is your knitting, busily <br /> <br />Hooking itself to itself, <br />It is your sticky candies. <br /> <br />I have your head on my wall. <br />Navel cords, blue-red and lucent, <br /> <br />Shriek from my belly like arrows, and these I ride. <br />O moon-glow, o sick one, <br /> <br />The stolen horses, the fornications <br />Circle a womb of marble. <br /> <br />Where are you going <br />That you suck breath like mileage? <br /> <br />Sulfurous adulteries grieve in a dream. <br />Cold glass, how you insert yourself <br /> <br />Between myself and myself. <br />I scratch like a cat. <br /> <br />The blood that runs is dark fruit--- <br />An effect, a cosmetic. <br /> <br />You smile. <br />No, it is not fatal. <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by Venus<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-other/
