Desire

I want to love her like a rainy Sunday.

I want to breeze in the back door,

Trailing low bruisy clouds from my hair.



For her, I want to be heart-catchingly gorgeous.

I want to be the most filthy beautiful woman who ever made the fields falter and bow.



I'm not, of course.

I am older than late afternoon,

And as plain as garden mud.



Still, I blush darker to say,

I dream of her--

And my desire, far from fading,

Has only grown more insistent.

When I was young, I was blank blue sky;

Now I blow in where I will, brooking no argument, scattering the crows.



I want to leave her soaked inside like church gloves left on the roof of the car in the storm.

I want her as fragrant as rain grass.

I want to think, "I love my own smooth face when I am this close to her."



I want to love her like a rainy Sunday.

I want to keep her inside,

In bed,

All the sweet afternoon long.

_______

magpie 60