when you shake your mane
and dust flies all around you,
dust, not stardust but dust, sand, sward,
all of which clung to your hair while rolling on the ground
with me alternately above and underneath and above and breathlessly forgetting...
the clothes somewhere unknown
the shoes somewhere unknown even further away
filling up with crickets and barking fox cubs
and thieving mountain goats,
and grunts leave your broken lips,
grunts, not sighs but grunts, growls, grumbles,
alternating with the cracking sound of breaking boulders
and the cackling sound of exploding wheat grains
as the spikes which punctured your bare shoulders pull out covered by blood
and drop into the burrows of hungrily awaiting prairie dogs
and blind moles
and mice with tails bitten-off in bitter clan fights.
and sweat hangs on to the tips of your sore nipples,
sweat, not perfume but reeky sweat, perspiration, exudation,
offending lilac into decaying witheredness
and bees into deserting their queens
and flint stones into meteors flying the skyward way
when by mischance my mouth misses a drop and it hits ground
mixing with the grunts and the dust
and flying like pellets into the eyes of doves
when you shake your mane.
you find a way to nestle inside me
just when I find a way to nestle inside you
and as we nestle inside each other
thankful crickets and cubs and goats blanket us with stardust
humble prairie dogs and moles join mice in a symphony of sighs
and bees and doves munch lilac and flint stones into perfume mulch
laying it on our skin
the way of sparkling rose water.
is this some kind of an opium dream? you ask,
shivering in the beauty of it all.
I’ve never yet heard of shared opium dreams, I answer,
shivering in the beauty of you.
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Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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better and better with each read! ths is an epic delight!
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Damn! I am speechless!
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You always write the way that I can see and hear your words clear as they come from the movie screen hanged somewhere inside me, my private cinema, talking the unique language of love they do not need any translation, and the only thing what I can do is to leave you my trilled sigh of appreciation.
~Sonja~
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Nestling is always a good thing, Scribe. I'd be wary of those sharp boulders, though, if I were you. There should be no wounding in the making of Love. 
Danny loves it when I shake my mane, too. 
A wild, windy poem of wild, windy love. Beautiful. 
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forgot claps
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I love the originality of some of your images and the strength of your cadence.
To me the "A not B but A" detracts from the urgency of your imagery-- and since the "B" is always just a single antonym it can't develop a current of its own. I personally think these lines would be stronger if you dropped the "not B but" and just had "Sweat, reeky sweat, perspiration, exudation" and "dust, dust, sand, sward" (that's a little mini-spell in a poem)
Thanks for the read.
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