Give me the night and winters bitter frost. And there are no exceptions to the rules. But where are the women, once so beautiful. And now reluctant to enter the night. For fear, that what they come to….. will not be real
Even within the most intricate web. I still turn without surprise. Nothing has a quickness, and the world is full of tongued grass. You drew me out from afar. Can you cling to one such as me?
Under blushed blue skies. Spring spills it’s secrets, in a covid testing line. Singing the poets plight, I revisit my youth. And that first tender kiss, tall in my mouth – and wanting more.
As if they listened…. But I don’t think so. Out there is a cry of anguish, and the last dawn is coming. The few with pure hands, grasp anything near the heart. While others are day dreaming of perfumed kisses. It’s an emotional time for everyone around.
Spring wakens my soul, and the flames of desire. Gone is the frigid winter, witnessed through drafty skies. With a picture of the Buddha spinning. And the calm breezes in another place. I can live moments, for an infinity with you.
I think you are aligned to joy, far into the summers. But still take fire on the fields of spring. And if you forget the colour of my eyes. Or how to submit to life, plainly. No single flesh can give you warmth. Just the dreams of lonely men, brutal and aimless.
But strangely enough, and as swift as thought. The song you sing, builds the fabric – of a whole wonderful world. Of raindrops on an iron railing, tasting salty wet. And life’s night begins, for you and me. A glistening softness, and eyes I could swim in.
Everywhere is calm. No words to distract us. And you tell me to throw the dice. Another one of your night moves? Sprawling on the bed, and still thirsting. ‘Come and help me, I am disappearing’ – I said. An old poets trick. And our bodies, appeared in each dream.
A poet’s words, melt the sky’s still tongue. With a memory, and tremble of touch. I’m still the hunter, for your taste and eyes of absence. Pecked by the birds, but still milling our carefree hopes.
As if I listened. All night was a love poem, pushing towards daybreak. Your body’s edge exhausted, panting and dripping. A spring equinox tied to my body, and drowned on your tongue.
A Wandering Poet 