March 28, 2012

poem 103 of a poem a day for 2012


I pray in Her trees, too

She scent gathers me
on my knees
but rather
then submit
just yet
I thirst spill
the weight
of Her waters
on my chest
for a bit
 and bridle 
the wait

the sate
of fate
is still a choice
to ripen with what
Her wine tastes of
in each climbed vine
with me and Her here
in the curved
mentions of
my devotion

in a cupped whisper
when the night
is all nose
and my eyes
are closed
my fingers
are oaring
incessantly
crawling
Her 
tides

I am 
all in
every bite
of Her
I can
ride on
towards
morning
again

EJR © 

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