Pulling down the veil
thrown negligently earlier on
over a morning which took so long to create.
You opened your eyes
and your raising eyelids pulled the strings
and the veil dropped in a heap around your bed.
Your art is incomparable, I said,
sitting cross legged on my pillow
watching the event.
You basked in the glory
stretching a lazy hand towards your public
and pulling lightly at the hair on my chest.
You need a shave, you said seriously,
moving on to my nipple.
I did not reply,
too busy watching art devour its creator,
the sun sending volley after volley of investigative rays
nosily chatting their way
before exploding in clumps underneath your skin.
All we need now is birds, I said,
opening the window
and letting in the swarms fighting for a place of honor on your flesh.
You shooed away a few daring ones from your breast
making place for my hand.
Now my art is complete, you said.
I looked at the surrealistic picture
with tears in my eyes.
Will you do it again tomorrow? I asked.
You closed your eyes
blinking this morning out of existence,
its rays, its birds gone,
my hand still there.
As long as your hand is here
I will create a morning every morning.
I lay down alongside you
pulling the white sheet above our heads
and touching the tiny scratches in the spots deserted by the visiting birds.
Tomorrow I will bring in the butterflies, you added,
dragging my fingers through trails unknown.
A contest entry
- Your Best Pre-write of 2007 by Metaphorist.
900 points, ended January 4, 2008, 22 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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This is a very interesting write. Very well written.
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Stunning! Sensual and lovely imagery. I can pretty much tell from the first stanza whether I will consider a piece as a finalist. This had me enthralled from line one. The first stanza scared me a bit because it contained some ideas I was toying with last night for my own poem- eyes being opened. But I digress. This is a romantic story without sounding like prose, which to me is an accomplishment when dialogue is involved.
Thanks for entering. Good luck in my contest and in the New Year! -
Today I left this sugar for the end...Curious, curious I was to see what dropped out of your poetic pen and soul ... I was reading it carefully, as always, from the first to the last line, smiling... still curious and don't hate me if I will try to imagine some pictures like... well, why you are always making me to
? This is a real kind of magic poetry an love. I like it, I love it. Still smiling...sigh... 
~Sonja~
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sugar you call it...
thank god for your tasting mouth, girl ... and... hey, imagine all you want, lol, mind if i do the same? your visit lights my page, dear sonja, thank you.
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the doves are cooing at our feet in the setting of the sun, the loon is floating in the aftermath of the silver moon and all the birds are floating waiting for the next tommorrow's visit to their secret tunnel of nestle for this there life of a long awakened dream.
I could go on and on and on...
it is good to read your sweet texture again.
Tamara
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glad i did not lose you during my long absence, my friend. such a waste of talent pouring your poetical words on my page, yet so glad this “waste” chose me as a target . thank you for such a pleasing comment, tambug
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More kaleidoscopic images of love incarnate, my friend. Would that the world could clone your eyes, engulf the hate, engorge the masses on your enduring view.
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i live for love, my friend, don’t know if many would share my “vision”, glad that you do. and glad for your sharp wording, thank you for being both a reader and a friend.
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