The day I became a poet was a sunny day of no particular ominousness. I was scuttling along in my usual furtive way, suspecting no ill, when a large invisible thumb descended from the sky and pressed down on the top of my head. A poem formed. It was quite a gloomy poem: the poems of the young usually are. It was a gift, this poem – a gift from an anonymous donor, and, as such, both exciting and sisnister at the same time.
she put all her world in this embrace.
she let the weight of him eclipse the world around her.
she wished that all that would remain and matter is this embrace.
That they could just live on this-
the interlocking of bodies fitting in each other's dips and curves
as if they were just one mended piece.
That they wouldn't need to speak
and find themselves arguing at the top of their lungs.
That they wouldn't let go to eat
only to have a day when they couldn't afford to.
That they'd be locked to each other in this embrace
that one of them wouldn't go where the other couldn't.
all she wanted was every breath taken together.
Their warmth driving all the aches away.
Just this. This embrace.
Posted at 12:00 pm by peaches
Jackal November 30, 2004 05:03 PM PST Beautiful. I love the tenderness in this. Has a potent feel.
