Persona March, 1st 2013 by

The Poetry of Alicia Winski

Alicia Winski

Alicia Winski


 ~The Touch of a Woman~

 There is nothing quite as fiery as
       the touch of a woman

her eyes might scorch you to bone and ash with
a lingering reflective look, as requests for close
acquaintance are considered and well met

this same woman can char and scar your skin,
her warm, singular digit leaving behind its trace
a smoldering path well traveled, content

in her passions, a woman may incinerate you,
damning you to the flames of a thousand hells,
redeem you with a thousand mercies—

        bless you in a thousand salvations

she can melt you down to a liquid pool with little
more than the wary flicker of an eyelash, the shimmer
of a soft smile tremulous in promise and anticipation

when life loses you to resigned despair, in purpose, she will

find you, capture you cradled within warm welcoming thighs,

her ardent love-soft cries guiding the way, leading you back

                    bringing you home at last … No–

it doesn’t really matter how—

in the end, a woman will reach you

and you will always
be touched


~Losing My Manna~

Proverbial strangers passing in the night,

voices speaking to white noise with hesitant

notes left behind in the wake–


bleak reminders of what once was

A door left open far too long, a CD left in the player

unheard, playing over and over what we once called

~Our Song~

endlessly spinning, never moving on,

a stolen song stagnant on its spindle

Fixated on pictures of you, remembering how

the smile on your face so often

put a smile on mine

 your hair so dark and fine–

spun silk manna; blessed benediction to eager fingers

reaching out to race your face, unable to mend the breach

between us

Feeling helpless to resuscitate all we once knew,

firmly closing that door we so blindly walked through

I’d rather look back on what we once were,

than look ahead at what

we are becoming

A fire once blazing high, turned to embers slowly dying out

with only the occasional spark to remind us of its warmth

With no propensity for lying in soot and ash, I’ll walk away

from this cooling hearth, carrying with me precious, bright

moments to be brought out only in my darkest hours

You see, I’d rather remember how we once felt,

than remember feeling

nothing at all



 A quickening;
an awakening of the senses
flash-fire quick sparked as
emotional antennae rise high
Heart flutters rapidly as her interest
is drawn by this unexpected
interloper stepping
silently into her

A confident hand reaches out;
a hesitant exchange, then another,
and another …

Cautious as a doe in a new found glen,
she steps forward wondering,
Is this a warm heart?

Or will she be shot down
and slaughtered
by a direct hit?

Sun-bronzed silk dances
wildly in tune with a faint
sea-scented breeze

Impatiently prancing, unable to remain still,
she lifts green-eyed curiosity
up to the sky,

Just what
lies over the hill?

Putting aside
her reservation,
she chasses to her destination,
anxious, eager, hesitating when he sees her
weighted under her burden of loss,
silently questioning,
do I take them
with me?

Or is it time to let go?

Bitter, bittersweet memories
fall down to the ground around her–
Letting them go regretfully as she would
a handful of petals to be laid upon a casket,
she turns away

Tears staining a face
carved in grief, she asks herself,

Just where
do I go from here?



 in a fevered quest for redemption, you come to me driven by

a new found vocation; professing a devout adoration as you pray

for restoration of a faith we lost long ago

head bowed, a supplicant kneeling to a deity, zealous in your

worship of consecrated flesh, your murmured invocations fall

unheard under the intonations of a deaf, exalted prayer, your parched

lips anointed with the wine of a familiar, heady, sweet sacrament

as you slip resolutely into my feminine sanctum, we come together in

unholy communion, committing ancient sins in momentary, beautific

union, seeking absolution only in the aftermath of our heavenly raptures

these baptismal fires cooled in the languid liquids of salvation,

we lie completed, content, depleted, spent, entwined for eternity in

the confining hell

of this confessional


speaking in tongues~

        he speaks in tongues

his words pass through lips casting smiles
over pearly whites before the swine,
lyricizing songs of love unsung

        my feet dance, attempting to
          keep time with perplexing strains

he pours mixed messages and metaphor
onto canvas, finger-painting pretty pictures
never to be captured in posterity

        I spill arterial sincerity from fragile
          veins left anemic in wasted effort

he carelessly sops me up, bread to spilt
milk left long untouched, soured over time,
curdled in cavalier disregard

        I pen poetic heart flutters fallen
          on deaf ears, and he–

              he speaks in tongues








Alicia Winski

I am the co-editor with Apryl Skies at Edgar & Lenore's Publishing House. I am also a poet.

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