Why does the sky blush so much,
I know, oh
mere mention of his name at early black
or is it that body unfurls into poetry—
more than holy for some.

Tell me what it is to touch,
darkly so
ache of words as they trickle down his back
the shape, the feel and the danger on a rotary—
akin to a ripe plum.

Ever so slightly a smudge;
beau, beau, beau!
Bulrushes and underbrush were bare, brag,
for January is curious, is based solely—
gift me every ounce, crumb.

There’s no addiction as such;
where to go,
tangle of sheets, wild thoughts to be exact,
my fingers keep searching in violins so lovely—
sweet confessions that thrum.

I reckon, like sugar rush
strong and slow,
how can he see so deep, in turn affect?
my world in an instant then change irrevocably—
I fall in arms of sun.

 

 

 

Photo credits: “The Lovers,” by Jarek Puczel, Pinterest

Form: Rimas Dissolutas

Posted for Poetics: Exploring the realm of French Literature @dVerse Poets Pub