February 11, 2025
 |  38 Comments

I have gathered them for you, cupped in my palms,
their skins bruised with the hush of dusk,
where the vines tangle,
where the blackbirds leave only the husks
of sweeter things.
Blood-dark mulberries stain my wrists
like a vow unspoken.
Raspberries, their hollow mouths soft as the words
I’ve lost, collapse at your lips,
surrendering their sugar to the dark.

A spritz of rose water,
and a little pomegranate juice
to get the ball rolling—
steep a bag of tea in sake overnight.
Not everything is coitus,
flouting the laws of a whirlwind courtship
is too much of a risk,
one needs to watch carefully the way something happens
or when the other does something.

Steep the leaves in water gone to hush,
let the red fruit bleed its warmth,
a cup of dusk, a whisper of sun—
sip slow, before it cools.

Now add vanilla,
a hint of cinnamon and a bit of sugar
and observe as the steam rises in ribboned ghosts,
the tea dark with raspberries gone to syrup,
sliced peaches, or a wedge of orange
if you desire,
we drink to remember, or to forget,
each sip a fleeting comfort, a borrowed warmth,
like fireflies caught in a jar, glowing briefly
before the dark closes in,
before the silence settles around us.

I was a garden, wild and half untamed,
my roses closed to all but wind
and rain,
yet now they bow beneath
your touch,
their petals wide with unblushing pain.

Oh, love, you leave no hollow place
in me, no quiet hour, no breath unclaimed by fire—
No sooner have you taken all of me,
than night folds up and drags the stars away.
Still in my bones, the echoes of your name—
still in my throat, the salt of yesterday.
Stronger than rum,
vaster than prose or perhaps even poetry,
in the end,
love is all about the act of persisting.

 

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, ferment the freckled red bitterness
of love! — Arthur Rimbaud

Delighted to be hosting Valentine-themed Poetics at dVerse, come join me! 🩷

Posted for Poetics – From Your Valentine @dVerse Poets Pub