and kissed my ear, my jaw line, my face,
convincing me utterly
of your roadhouse infallibility,
and of my own divinity--
a spray of spirit caught inside a potter's jar of flesh.
Of course,
you could convince me that cats speak Cantonese
or that Rock island Reds can rhumba
when you lower your breasts softly
onto mine.
Nonetheless,
I published my love on the rain-side
of silver maple leaves,
and should the caterpillar of the tiger swallowtail find it
and be pleased,
I would respect her view, whether her wings one day
be yellow, or a deep feminine blue.
The sound of your voice,
the prairie flower edge I love so much;
or the aphasia your bare skin engenders in me,
brings afternoon rain every time.
I am the rippled, vintage glass pane
in a window made love to by the weather;
Call me "Mine" when you fuck me,
let me know you can see right through me,
and that what you see
is blessed.
loved this line: I published my love on the rain-side
ReplyDeleteof silver maple leaves
chillZ!
ReplyDeleteFriendly Aloha from Waikiki
Comfort Spiral
> < } } (°>
Read this twice--I felt that first stanza make a little quiver in my bones--and each time it gets more beautiful, in an unreal way, like a dream one doesn't believe is really happening, because it's too good....then the last lines...*throws hands up* what can I say? I'm already bald, and the bar is just a nasty melted puddle out in the shed.
ReplyDeleteOMG. Incomparable. I, too, loved the rain-side of silver maple leaves........and the caterpillar of the tiger swallowtail. How do you DO it? Never mind, even if you gave me all the words and instructions, I could still never write a poem like you!
ReplyDeleteHow could I express my reaction any better than hedge or Sherry did? This is one of the most powerful love poems everever, one that should be read by many more than will ever know it exists...the fact that it won't be is one of its solemn beauties.
ReplyDelete"Fat chance" as a label just made me smile.
WTF? I could cut and paste all the lines that were breathtaking, but then it would be the whole poem pasted into this comment. Beautiful in an other-worldly way, with a bit of rawness at the end.
ReplyDeleteI'm buying up ALL the Bolthouse Farms you-know-what-in your neighborhood to express my pissed-off envy ;)
"I published my love on the rain-side
ReplyDeleteof silver maple leaves," How DO you come up with lines like that?!! I want to live in your words, wear them, swim in them , breathe them. Yeah, I liked this poem. A lot.
Love the last stanza. The intimate request that ...let me know you can see right through me, and that what you see is blessed.
ReplyDeleteThis comes after the window glass pane has been made love to by the weather and you've asked to be called "mine".
A wish for both to become selfless and become each other in each other's embrace much like the caterpillar capturing itself as the tiger swallowtail.
If I could, but just once, gently touch those beautiful gossamer wings of yours.
I think this may be the most beautiful thing I have ever read:
ReplyDeleteNonetheless,
I published my love on the rain-side
of silver maple leaves,
and should the caterpillar of the tiger swallowtail find it
and be pleased,
I would respect her view, whether her wings one day
be yellow, or a deep feminine blue.
'what you see is blessed' and then Willie AND EmmyLou .. is it hot it here?
ReplyDeleteLines I really loved:
ReplyDelete"convincing me utterly
of your roadhouse infallibility,
and of my own divinity--"
"or that Rock island Reds can rhumba"
"I published my love on the rain-side
of silver maple leaves,"
"or the aphasia your bare skin engenders in me,"
"I am the rippled, vintage glass pane
in a window made love to by the weather;"
Some writers take words and wrap themselves in them like satin sheets, and the sheets are oh so happy for that, as am I, since I love the result.
Loved this and luv you, el Mosk
(the fatter, more Mexican version of the Fonz)
NO...NO...NO one can write love songs the way you do, SP!
ReplyDeleteyour writing is the definition of perfection!
♥
I hope you don't end up with 3 twin comments from me but as I wrote before... This piece makes me want to stop making dinner and start writing poetry. No, stop writing and start having sex. No, not just sex but to fall in love and never eat again.
ReplyDeleteThis is dangerous love you're writing about; it's the kind that inevitably breaks you into pieces. These are the lines that make this cauldron bubble:
ReplyDelete"I am the rippled, vintage glass pane in a window made love to by the weather"
"a spray of spirit caught inside a potter's jar of flesh"
"I published my love on the rain-side of silver maple leaves"
"I would respect her view"
rosemarymint.wordpress.com
There is not a damn thing that I can say that does justice to how utterly perfect this is.
ReplyDelete