your body, a distant horizon
revealed its form upon closer inspection
gladly, I have trekked those scrapes
surveyed the erosion and shifting surface
the tarns, creeks, and scars
so familiar they are almost my own
even in sleep, I hear your muscles foxing
over the timber, your pattering
rhythm and creaking floorboards
I still hold room for the hidden and untouched
paws and hums in my imagination, such a soft
morning opera opening above
us, two thirsty kestrels
circling and diving
like curious fingers
tracing a heaving cloud
pregnant with mist
tomorrow, we will bake in the heat
of a quarter century, two wild
and unfinished maps
overlaid for so long
our distinct features
superimpose to create
this fantastic moment
under a canopy of honeyed light
speaking in tongues, pressed
against each other, engraved
in a brittle, silver leaf, waiting
our final engraving
in that strange terrain
Luv your imagery and wrap around sentences
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday. Stay Safe
Much💝love
This is an evocative write. It left me wanting to re-read and consider once more.
ReplyDeleteImagery is certainly your superpower. The same goes for structure and word play. I love how "tomorrow, we will bake in the heat /
ReplyDeleteof a quarter century, two wild" makes me think of baking being too wild. And, dear goodness! the mental image brewed by "honeyed light / speaking in tongues" seems to feel my mind sky with amber glances telling tales that sing right into the skull.
Ha! Thanks for mentioning the two wild/too wild reading. Definitely on my mind when I cut the line there.
DeleteThose images are vivid & the way they shift through is perfection :)
ReplyDeleteJust beautiful I love every line
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful, sensual, glorious love poem! (I don't wish I'd written this; I wish someone had written that for me!)
ReplyDeleteAnd may you and your love have many more anniversaries yet!
DeleteGreat use of metaphor in this poem about getting old together. I especially love the lines:
ReplyDelete‘even in sleep, I hear your muscles foxing
over the timber, your pattering
rhythm and creaking floorboards’
and
‘in a brittle, silver leaf, waiting
our final engraving
in that strange terrain’.
Metaphors to please the reader indeed, very enjoyable.
ReplyDelete