 
	Saturday Poetry – ‘Untitled for a Reason’ by Tara Betts
Saturday Poetry – ‘Untitled for a Reason’ by Tara Betts
This week’s Saturday Poetry matched with mobile photography/art is entitled ‘Self-Care Is a Psy-Op’ by Jameka Williams.
I have matched mobile art by @1000worte with this image entitled ‘Winter Noon’. “So, when I was writing this poem, I was talking to someone who I knew there was no way I could ever be within the way that I had hoped. Even though it was clear, it reminded me that my heart had not shrunk and that having those aspirations for love was still possible for me. So, what does it mean to write about a love unrequited yet still imagined? I didn’t want to write a blazon or some other form, but I wanted to explore that question in images that evoked my yearning, even though it was only a limited joy.” she explained.
If you would like to be featured in our Saturday Poetry section, please ensure you include the hashtag #theappwhisperer on any images posted to Instagram. This will mean we will be able to consider it.
To view the others we have published in this section, go here.
via Poets.org
Saturday Poetry – ‘Untitled for a Reason’ by Tara Betts
you are curled under 
unconsummated kiss, 
folded into the violence 
of blueberries crushed 
between teeth, dying 
sugars of once growing 
fruit, and I let it linger. 
your hands map 
a body that requires 
no discovery, 
nor conquest. 
you speak softened 
drama of fury and frenzy, 
quiet underbelly, light 
beaming into peaceful 
dark interrupted by 
minor collisions 
bodies were built 
to withstand. you, 
looping daydreams 
and gasps silent 
under skin until 
partitions of distance 
and judgment lapse 
into surreptitious mist. 
you are the laugh 
that falls orange 
against my cheek 
and dries slight 
sweat cooling. 
in the smallest fleck 
of imagination, you 
become a dream 
I needed to recall 
as muscles found 
new persistence 
flexing in a crucible 
where the world 
expands beyond 
the steady scruff 
of sandpaper 
graded routine. you, 
small map unfolding 
a globe that vanished 
within mundane block. 
you open a door 
with a word, if any, 
or a pause hanging 
like an ornament 
in your full smirk.
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