Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Between Shoulder Blades


Shoulders often go unnoticed, understated. Have you observed how intriguing they are? A landscape of gentle glens and dales - in perpetual penumbra - the blades, the dimples and the nape. 

A papilionaceous garden. An oft neglected topography. 

Encased in a gentle mesh of caresses, its nuchal inclines gently petal. The incurve quivers.

 Minute fronds tremble; responding to a spray of raindrops, sheer fabric and kisses.

How so infinitely precious its gentle lifts. Its casual, almost imperceptible, shrugs. The sorrowful droops. 


All those constellations and tessellations fading in and out of its delirious surface and the loveliest of the myelic shivers when in contact with an eager lip or a knuckle.

One wants to revere it with gentle inhales all the way from the nape down to the dimples and scattered moles. 


Trap it in a cage of soft trembles.

Picture: Google Images




Inspired by Nabokov's quote on reading:


Although we read with our minds, the seat of artistic delight is between the shoulder blades. That little shiver behind is quite certainly the highest form of emotion that humanity has attained when evolving pure art and pure science. Let us worship the spine and its tingle.

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