I am prone to the promise,
you said, of immutable perfection,
the promise of your legs, slim
and pale as mulberry trees, the quiet
rash of your beard on my breast
settled as wild berries,
and sometimes, beneath the after-sex
sedation of one another, your hand
on my thigh,
my hand and its litany
on yours.
There
is the fine routine
of marriage.
Next
is the turning away.
Your breath, an uneven
and overweight ghost.
In a list
A contest entry
- come now, teach me again, Of Love. by Rob..
1800 points, ended October 12, 17 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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love this..
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brilliant
I find the imagery unique and right on target…
Again
Brilliant!
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This is perfect. I know this poem, it was one that was resting inside, and you stole it...hehehe. But it sounds better coming from you anyway.
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Maybe I did steal it... maybe I didn't. You can't prove a thing! Mwahahahaha.
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this is so well written.
no criticism, just applause
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you nailed it, yes you did
so good to see you writing like this... makes me good to know your words on here..
sensual and sensitive
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Next
is the turning away.
Your breath, an uneven
and overweight ghost.
OMG! Brilliant. You captured after-sex perfectly here.
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This poem is yet another reason you're one of my favorites.
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