Lost in the depth of his fatigue-kissed lids,
I think of clouds
scattered, as though sugar split upon black marble;
philosophy spread to one’s liking,
perhaps we are not meant
to fight the effect they have upon less
than brooding mind.
But I wouldn’t know. Not really.
I am much too engrossed in carob hues that lie
in repose before me.
I don’t want to lose this ache;
this feeling that spreads like orange marmalade, like fire
erupting in blood, in veins poetic,
can I keep him?
Hold him so that we are closer than just physical—
the sense of destiny touches upon my lips, long after his
how I wish I could tell him that intention is merely just
the beginning of journey
laid out for him to consider; a never-ending stream,
the moon, the countryside, the mountains silver hued,
his is a path I always knew I would take.
Like a forest all on its own, dark and tempting,
searching for meaning, for clandestine meetings
that eventually lead to more;
a saucer of misread desires beckon to the Poet in me,
they might be spiritual, they might be erotic—
for now, let me name them eloquent.
I held a perfectly shaped shell to my ear,
as though to recount husky voice,
I don’t dare resist being drawn to him;
to him belongs every thought unrelated—I apologize
for being so intense.
Photo credits: “The Kiss,” by Thomas Saliot, Pinterest
Posted for Open Link Night #300 September LIVE @dVerse Poets Pub