May 29, 2004
"Your body is like water,"
I murmer to my great being love, asleep,
deep in the white space of dawn,
deep in the salted atmosphere
of morning flesh;
Then stretch nude as arbutus, leave
behind trailings of nutmeg-scented breath,
step onto the balcony into the still
dewy cool to meet the East-rising
sun off the sea;
Lean off the tin railing, see
grey blue in shadow, gradually butter pale:
a strand of his hair caught on the foot,
barely. A flutter in the dawning space
of mild northern sun.
I lean out into the hands of air.
2000; because I miss Blaine, who is in Brasil.
Posted by delire at May 29, 2004 01:42 AM