Monday, January 2, 2012
Beyond the height hill flat
like those memory sleets
a word worn, a bloom arose.
Lean into a fountain.
Kisses you turn to me
with hands clasped behind your back.
Jellyfish a sigh disturbed.
The tender us
a cool body shall dare mingle with
in translucent being. And the water
to ensconced this chilly fruit.
Our bodies press warm.
Our lips. Who would have thought that
summer crowds merging
and isolate steps from out my down
about this facile time touch deft.
The cottons clinging.
My hands with a dew like down niche,
moist sap. Water run the passive crush.
Your hips, my eyelids.
Like those that this memory sleets.
(This is poem #1111)