like picked blooms from the roadside,
you wore jeans and a purple shirt.
You did this to make me mad as the moon to get them off you,
so that your skin could preach gospel to me
smooth as a Gypsy barker.
Afternoon light came through the sectioned windows,
as you put pasque flowers on the turntable
and I poured last year's red maple leaves from a wine bottle.
The shirt, the jeans, they fell,
swooning angels drunk on honey and sunset.
We were a bowl of sweetness gone caramel, warm as bees.
Outside under the arriving stars,
an owl stood sentinel on a cherry branch;
your laugh made her swivel her head to capture the sound.
That day, into that night,
we made love bold as summer sunflowers,
then wore each other's jewelry under the stars, near the corn rows.
You went home in the morning,
with puffy lips, hickeys and your half-lidded smile,
pungent as new earth, smug as a cat.
How was your visit with your friend? they asked you.
How nice you know a girl like that, a pal like that, they said,
blind as bats, not even listening for the answer.
_______
Sadly, pathetically...people see what they want to see, and ignore what they don't want to see.
ReplyDeleteThis is a breath of hot, sizzling summer...and we still have more winter ahead.
So many unexpected phrases and ideas. . . . a box of delights
ReplyDeleteALOHA from Honolulu
Comfort Spiral
=^..^= <3
Luscious, Shay. And yeah, people are blind ~
ReplyDeleteBlind as bats indeed. People only see what they want to see, in my opinion, and then take offence when you show them the truth.
ReplyDeletePoetry is often about knocking the reader out of their comfort zone--or it isn't poetry. Normally however, the love poem is not that sort of vehicle unless it is pure erotica. Here you combine a lyric love poem with just enough sensuality and flirtation to light up the prism of rainbow colors which is being human at the deepest level, in connection with someone else, whoever that someone else may be...and if people don't want to look at what's true, that's their own blind loss.
ReplyDeletea bowl of sweetness ... i love that imagery
ReplyDeleteGlad you pointed me here, this is an exquisite, though not precious poem. Delicious and enviable, in an untouchable way. Excellent writing, you hottest middle aged postal worker. Love from Mosk
ReplyDeleteWowzers! Fantastic! And what a line: "We were a bowl of sweetness gone caramel, warm as bees." Brilliant.
ReplyDeleteJust like Sherry I loved the line a bowl of sweetness gone caramel warm as bees. It would appear that love isn't blind in this case, although others are (or chose to be).
ReplyDeleteThis is overwhelming in its pure gorgeousness. Did someone already say luscious? Well, that's the perfect word for this.
ReplyDeleteYes, glad you pointed the way to this gorgeous piece of sensuality. I, too, smiled at the line "We were a bowl of sweetness gone caramel." Pure deliciousness.
ReplyDelete