July 31, 2017

the cut forms of fallen sunlight when midsummer ............................. (for Jeanne Moreau)

Jeanne Moreau in 
'Elevator To The Gallows'

so in my mind satyr satyr
a later and later
and on to and on with
I have these conversations
these put-ons of imaginative leaning(s)
that lead me to think about,
in a way a poem might, what
role playing sex magic does to a soul

I am
inside a poem
scented happy by pines, deep deciduous
clutching weave
ache and arch
into hey baby, smile
let me tell you softly
I have bruised the mint
stirred it with cane sugar
and squeezed lemon
like you like
and like those cold plums
in will iam carlos williams' little tooth-ed vignette
we are and can be a driven slow
kissed neck
and breast
fineries fumbled
under a blanket 
in a backseat
we wear anything is possible
along with the rest of this world at large
a country road rolls on
beneath our wheels
awhile paying close attention
to flowers, bees, birds
on the sides of the road
we went about
finding ourselves
in order to be
lost inside
the kinds of mathematical
expression bending
time between
memory, and
any made up
curse word
thrown into the holiest
of intercourse(s)
we can make
sacred before
that which
births our deepest
belly laughs
laughs too
as we become
as right as
longing for Love, is
in the rain


EJR ©

3 comments:

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    1. good catch on the math, thank you ... yes, I am happy with the piece ... it flowed pretty, like a beautiful exhale with morning coffee ...

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  2. Awesome blog, i always enjoy & read the post you are sharing!
    Thank for your very good article...!

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