"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Monday, September 27, 2010

A Moment Alone.

Back pushed up against the wall,
your hands blazing
well worn trails.
Your lips like
fire against my ice.
Your eyes carving
plain feature
and plainer virtue.
Your heart
is twined
and thumping radically
with mine.
Back pushed up against the wall,
we left marks there,
scratched green paint.

- - -

I feel like I've been writing a lot about what I see in the natural world lately, so this is more of an attempt to break developing habits. As much a I love romantic poetry, I want to remain as versatile a poet as I can or as my age will allow.

1 comment:

"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."