Poetry Is My Secret Lover

Pollen dust spills
on the petals
that only I see,
not even the bee;

the silver liquid of moon
fills the crates
in my neck,
like a lover’s caresses.

*

His hands probe
for crevices
where sensation
pool and flow over;

but dry today,
frustrated he hurts –
a bruise
deeper than skin cannot be love.

*

Mangroves
on the way to the beach
held shadows
in thick knots of branches

that did not know
where they went
in green mirror
of humidity, precipitation.

*

That was his last breath,
it hung there
above his open mouth,
half closed eyes;

my image locked
in his cornea the last time.
Do I stay still
so that he does not lose me?  

*

A thought lost 
like paper swept under table,
an unuttered word
fills space between us,

an imaginary kiss –
lips remain pursed,
the taste  
of salt on skin denied.
 

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Poetry Is My Secret Lover

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s