As if in reply to interjections of morning,  
the wind changes course, 
volatile as it is,  
it is no surprise that susurration of leaves  
follow suit—the raiment  
we put on often alludes to desire without 
being specific. 
I crave the stain; I crave the stain.  

Is it his scent or musk of flowers that invigorates? 
Light of the sun 
or warmth in tone that implores I give myself? 
Perhaps we will never know, 
as in all beginnings,  
in middle  
and in the end, 
the paramour is gentle  
and meek [only to be altered by fervour] who  
made the rules, who broke them,  
the reason is past care, 
now we are wild and do not remember. 

I beseech, drink only the wine of my eyes,  
eat only the almond of full lips, 
nowadays autumn is more fragrant,  
it is rose gold, 
it utters words, that if, heard by Poets  
would end up in sonnets,  
I know not how to explain, the raiment 
we put on is 
often compelled by gesture,  
by motion and color of the sky. 

This occurred long ago, long before the rising 
of saints,  
before the tide learned to be influenced  
by the moon,  
little did I know that I would become  
alien to my own shore, 
so soft, yet so fiery his touch, beckons  
and calls,  
with thoughts sweet express the storm  
that rages inside, 
the raiment we put on often counts the ways, 
absolves from sin and teaches  
hesitant limbs to bloom, I am prepared. 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo Credits: Pinterest

Loosely inspired by the title of Kelly Cherry’s poem “The Raiment We Put On.” I look forward
to welcoming you all on Google Meet on Saturday. 🩷

Posted for Open Link Night #371 (with Live edition) @dVerse Poets Pub