her eyes have a gleam, a glisten and crack
they look from between sharp strands of bangs.
god, how her eyes do inquire
and lay down that affection be given
they legislate faster than congress
or the bodies thereof.
they demand that i look longer than planned
that i suck the marrow from life
--but i am not so sure what "marrow" is,
just that it has something to do with bones--
instead let's say her eyes tell me to draw
in my breath, to wait for a beat
to hold if i please,
and enjoy having lost track of what's real.
8 comments:
who dos haseth stolenith thigh bloom? Your earnest words do decieveth yonder modest optomathic inquiries? Fer reals--who beith the chick? And might I add--Her poem is sans file folder label--i believe i hath been scorned.
i must say: am curious as the six comments removed by the blog administrator. over a beer perhaps, hunts?
anyway. love the love poem. it makes me all slick in my dolphins. too bad my wife has an infant attached to her breast. too bad for me, that is.
i hope to see a post post haste that confirms your new post. . . .
Post a Comment