It is the breath...joining our lips
And it is the caress the fresh caress
To scour the frail seas of thy shame
To fashion them in gloom
It is the mirrors of jasmine
The problem of calm.
.........................................................................................................
Sunday
Her arms were dusty and I felt the urge to have her
lie down across a small city of pillows and make dusty
angels, her arms going up and down, her legs slow scissors
slicing across the crisp linen sheets, her limbs grew very
tired but I wouldn't let her stop until she cried for me, and
she did, the softest cry, her limbs fluttering a pathetic help.
pretty butterfly
trapped in my lilac-scented web
self-will lost
Maria
2 comments:
These are nicely done.
I hear it, you know.
Wet wings always seek the sun,
And I have changed--
In every weightless fibre that has turned into (my!) beauty,
Every instinct loves the light...
But all the dreams I can ever remember
Lead me to a language I can only find spoken cupped in your hands--
I flutter there
At your command in the heart of the night.
Your face cupped in my hands,
your body settled within mine.
Everytime I speak, you breathe
in my warm desire, your moist
velvet wings caress my strong arms.
I want to take you home and pin
you, open, against the wall where
your beauty will fill my eyes
and upon nightfall ...
We dip, evade and tease this
heaven we chase.
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