The grass under our feet (as much as
Ҭyour dimples) was responsible for offeringӬ
sacrifice, so we could slide smile, courtӬ
coy glances, and balance tenacity overӬӬ
roots, rocks, sloping curves. We circledӬ
each other, noticing, observing, that way
Ҭwe do. Negotiation peeled off slowly
Ҭfrom my heartbeat heist as a ripeӬӬ
cream moon cracked open dark. YouӬ
whispered, whimpered; my pen tore
Ҭthrough slick paper as soon as it could,
Ҭdesperate for the inky release. HowӬӬ
could I know your upturned mouth
Ҭand skin would split open in me
Ҭsuch grace, such monstrous want,Ӭ
such a taste for marrow? I keepӬӬ
my own hungers in check, for fearӬ
I will devour too much, open too wideӬ
overstep, explode—myself or others.”¨
What could happen, you asked. What
ҬӬwould you do? If only I had the beautifulӬ
permission, perhaps I would find out.
ҬPerhaps I will, when your heart is placed
Ҭunder mine, under a bursting sky, again.
I’ve always loved this one, Sir.
this is so beautiful.
and:
I have so much writing I’ve never published here do you want to see it?
yes! your poems are always such a treat.
This reminded me of a verse from the Bhagavad Gita: “Through sacrifice you can procreate, and it shall satisfy all your desires.”
I second yarrow, your poetry is beautiful and appreciated. :)