i can still sculpt a semblance of you now
nape of your neck
dart of your tongue
run of your fingers
shortness of your breath
arch of your back
lilt of your breast
heat of your sex
i drank you in till i was sure i would drown
saw the depths of the sea in your eyes
smelt the damp soil in your scent
heard the build of a storm in your cry
you washed over me in waves
buried me in the earth
and moaned a funereal hymn
and like so i died in your arms
now words are gone
seemingly unthinkable
unnecessary
for there is nothing to explain
no one to explain to
who else but you could understand
that there is only the now of watching you die a little
over and over
Winter Solstice
-
Jayden’s Mum had read him Beowulf, that Lady poem about shallots and the
Narnia Chronicles and she knew what happened to the children of those men
wh...
3 months ago
2 comments:
Wow!.....Nice.
ff aa rr kk...
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