The monsoon colours
His post-coital adventures
Into the swarm of seas
The banality of his horizon
Echoes in this early morning mist
The other man
Is idealistically a version
Of his prism
His hidden temple lost
In the Pompeii lust of time
The volcanic marrow bone
He remains dormant
As the other man erupts violently
In pink neon signs
And fanciful balletic allegro
With another male partner
More prevalent than he
This jungle of perfection
Beats his linear chest, with plucked
Visceral hairs,
And conquers all
From the soldier like vines
To the ancient inches of green
Into his devastatingly fertile palms
Escaping with the ideal lover in tow.
Comments
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Stunning!
Dear Anthony, I have been fragile and reluctant to
visit your site because your poetry delves into
emotional places I try to avoid!!!
This is a stunning poem... the word images are profound. You have a wonderful gift and don't ever
forget it! While I found the entire poem an incredible write I love the last lines the most...
Was it a dream? Did it all happen? Was I awake?
Bravo! Jane
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I'm sorry Jane.
Aesthetically some things are happening to me that I don't understand and my poetry is trying to rationalise.
Thank you for stopping by. I hope that all is well.
Anthony. -
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Dear Anthony, Never be sorry for what you write!
It always touches my heart and sometimes my soul!
All is well...Jane
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