Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Daylight fades—almost aqueous as we plan
an evening to honor hands, to die in, expose
ourselves, distance to love.

The sequence of breath: a sole strength
un- tethered, softened as it seeks harvest
that swells— fertile beneath the air.

And it is written on the map—white breast
in the palm, a string of moisture on the brow,
tongues that thicken to please.

It is certain, a void that becomes, in turn,
plentiful—the taste and scent of nectar
still sweet on the lip.

2 comments to Cher:

Cherilyn Ferroggiaro said...

Really in its first draft or so, but I decided to toss it up here. xo

Lost Days said...

Somewhere in the far distance,
a haunting train whistle echoed
across corn covered dells,
dampened by summer humidity
and stifling heavy air,
a sorrowful wail it was,
more so than as warning intended,
she rolled over in the satin
draped bed, trying to sleep,
desperate to get him out
of her mind’s eye,
his subtle words still ringing
throughout her passionate core...

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