Sta.sh
What can I say that two lovers have not whispered
Into each others ears?
I can compare you to the blissful tears
Flowing from my eyes like a summer storm
Every time you cure my worries.
A kiss from your lips is like a drizzle
Of sun soaked droplets
Warming my face.
When you emerge from the shower
I brace myself for the brisk waterfall
Dripping from your head as your lean to kiss my silent body.
When the first Native American
Sang his rain song
We were the first two droplets to fall from the sky.
No, no…
Those will not do.
I love the way your eyes widen,
Watching me saunter to your bed,
Ripping off layers of clothes,
Rushing under the blankets to
Protect our bodies from Winter's chill.
A chill so different from the way
You make me feel walking
Your fingers through every plateau of spine,
Around the bend of elbow,
Over the plains of stomach,
Through the hills of breasts,
Onto the tundric ice desert of my
Face.
Yet,
I melt. I melt.
I
Melt.
I
Am new.
Whole.
LIFTED
From the bed
Where
Below is
Myself old.
I see you whisper,
Words floating in the air,
Dancing, twirling, like pink ribbons
On bike handles,
Entering one ear
Exiting through my mouth
In dull, flat, letters.
Now, my body, cowering
Under blankets
Under stars
Under dirt
Under sea,
As far as my soul can go,
Trembling…
Trem
Bling
AH!
There's your hand
Like a stone pillar
Like a winter coat
Like the rays of sun
Emerging through endless clouds of gray,
Grasping mine,
Pulling me back,
Clutching my body and
Reviving my love.
Are these the things whispered into lover's ears?
Or is it romanticized stories about the Old West?
The ones where I dart into the desert with nothing but a canteen of water, some corn biscuits, a saddle, overcoat, and a picture of Jesse James in my breast pocket; searching for my Daddy's killer and retrieving his stolen gun, only to be rained on, captured by Indians and forced to watch my horse die from snakebites.
Maybe a Japanese haiku about the beauty of a woman?
Something like:
We will all crumble
Under the weight of her heart
When she can show it
Or maybe what is whispered into a lover's ear
Goes something like:
My love, I wake every morning with the thought of you,
And panic when I don't feel your body next to mine,
But then you return from the bathroom and
I thank God you have not been a dream.
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Yet,
I melt. I melt.
I
Melt.
I
Am new.
Whole.
LIFTED
From the bed
Where
Below is
Myself old.