A Winter Poem
In a strange bedroom,
Sliding off the straps of her dress,
His spirit is an open novel
With a tattered bookmark
Lift it to your kiss
The position of our bodies,
Laying in contemplation,
Ah! The song of a silver morning!
- And pine trees jovial in their husks
- And a chestnut horse in New Hampshire
Sugar cubes of our sweet, desperate touches
How the brown yellow straws peer through!
- And the angle of our bodies…
I wrote this poem in the hope you’d
– stirring spices of lust –
Understand completely
You know how the snow can fall madly?
That’s how I feel sometimes
- And the moon shivering in January
As he stares out the window
And laughs gently, deep inside himself
Sliding off the straps of her dress,
His spirit is an open novel
With a tattered bookmark
Lift it to your kiss
The position of our bodies,
Laying in contemplation,
Ah! The song of a silver morning!
- And pine trees jovial in their husks
- And a chestnut horse in New Hampshire
Sugar cubes of our sweet, desperate touches
How the brown yellow straws peer through!
- And the angle of our bodies…
I wrote this poem in the hope you’d
– stirring spices of lust –
Understand completely
You know how the snow can fall madly?
That’s how I feel sometimes
- And the moon shivering in January
As he stares out the window
And laughs gently, deep inside himself
posted by ... at 3:02 AM
12 Comments:
was listening to 'landslide' (dixie chicks)when I wrote my winter poem. remembered it when I read yours.
and the snow will keep falling -lap up the flaky patterns...
yes, the snow falls madly.
i loved this. it was wonderful. specially the bookmark. and actually all of it ... so so so beautiful!
it's freezing cold here in the office. and after reading that, i just wished i was curled up in bed, staring at that man by the window laughing deep inside himself. and i would beckon him to come back to bed.
inkblot - Funny writing winter poems in the summer. It happens, I guess, when you're stuck inside with work.
prerona - Thank you. For a free bookmark, it has exceeded expectations mileage wise.
bismuth - That does sound so much better than work. I've no doubt he'd jump right in.
"stirring spices of lust"
hmmm
must be a french delicacy. think i'll try it sometime!
Your writing has taken a different form, these days. The language is more simple, but more powerful as well. The honesty and conviction shows in the words. I like this poem very much.
Wonderful line this
"I wrote this poem in the hope you’d
– stirring spices of lust –
Understand completely "
Good work man!
cj - Haha. French, yes. They can be had at The Dingo, I hear. Highly recommended!
stormy zephyr - Thank you. I haven't really noticed the language differences. It's kind of like watching yourself grow, I guess. I appreciate the insight. Thanks.
jon - Gracias.
**silvermOOn** - Thank you for the compliment and the heads up regarding your address change. I'll be sure to make the change sooner than soon.
sampling your winter poem in these hothouse days was a frothy delight.
especially liked the tattered bookmark lifted to her kiss.
Songs of such silver mornings echo on for a long long time..
Scheherazade - Glad you stopped by. These 100 degree days make me ache for winter.
prat - Forever.
i do know how snow can fall madly. ...why do not the tumbling leaves disturb with equal vigor?, i wonder.
...aah, perhaps my mind is titian and rotting, while the birth-on-birth of all that white makes too glaring my enormous imperfections. (oops! don't yell.) ...but it outlines your words like the carving of a snow angel: subtle, understated, yet vibrant.
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