Those quiet trees in our range murmur
a lament to those requiems we utter
when passing solemnly under the
shade cast by our favorite maple.
Remembering the spring we shared
by the brook where we cast stones
too light with our laughter into
the ponds of our copse copacetic with
the smiles of summer’s ripples.
Your dappled coat. My wool scarf.
Those accoutrements we saved for fall.
That we might, to playfully spite,
the bronze days before old man’s winter.
Frosting the air between us with
the breath of shared desire.
A longing for ever.
And when again I walk this glen,
I swear I live the moment with you as then.
You must be sleeping.
A quiet angel breathing softy beneath the covers.
I wonder if those dreams that take flight at these later moments,
crossing the boundaries of distance with impunity
might be a place, lovely and pithy,
where you and I could meet.
Where I can gaze into your eyes.
Would that not be sweet?
A brief moment buried in eternity.
One that memory would keep fresh when waking
you see the morning sun, golden and smiling,
from your bedroom retreat.
One that desire would compel us, embolden and anxious,
to fleetingly pass the day until again we see
the evening dusk spread out like an umbra sea.
‘Til again we find those wayward dreams to greet.
Would that not be sweet?
i slept last night flying through you. smiling
slightly and flocking a flight of thoughts too much
to hold. so bold the notion of skimming this
ocean would make these weary wings fly to write
such verse this morning.
gliding quickly in a world shifting and thinking
of us in a union uplifting. seeming soaring this
ideal roaring the voices from my breathing whisper.
this no journey of careless yearning that any man
as i should blindly venture.
ever me and such as you could shake the center
from such cold winter. into spring we laughing
sing and hope eternal for our summer. would this
be real in falling prayer we kneel with hymns made to
keep us forever?
please, if you will heed us well the moments still
made to come whenever. tell me yet the clouds to
haze the last of our fell weather will demand that
clever words are needed never. in disarray my words
will ever be full of feeling for you i’d rather.
should i fail and questing trail behind the stars
i implore might snicker. too many sighs to match.
too much would flicker yet still i hope to meet
in your eyes the spark that inspires wonder.
hills too green and rocks too hard may cut our
vision asunder. from your full kiss and arms around
would i cherish a sweet reminder of what might
be us entwined in slumber. from this now, my
lovely sky, would you know my answer?
i didn’t sleep well last night without your morning
kiss to greet me as i seek the cold air outside the
covers. whatever the mood could have been better with
you to strum my slant eyed waking with the hum of your
lips i can never graze too soon.
if not for the thought of hills almost too green and
left unseen for the while we styled our embraces after
races from the valley dream. almost
seeming too unreal, i feel the creek speak to me cheek
to your cheek and the waters rush unchecked to the
court of our yard overlooked by the balcony.
would you mock the current of my thought often sparked
by the incandescent filament never spent or stocked by
any but me as it is true just for you? too many
restless days fall into play in the brooding of the
past at last, and bring that soothing breath that i
lovers stay wicked with the spite of spurn
grind their roots and pale away under the
falling sticks of sentinel trees that seize the last
of their envious tricks and overshadow the last of
what they may.
under the noon of such a boon, our garden takes life
raking the dead dirt into being where once ill will
lurked and now lies too vicious to unearth. just
in time, roses bloom and assume colors too wild, too
soon and i am near stricken with visions of
me in black and white on you.
i miss you so and with a heart beating
innocent, young and true.
if ever i endeavored, it was for you in lines
and stanzas i always knew
when stammered for sooth.
come to me and i to you. could
you smell the love i brew?
be as it may.
a woman’s forte
not for the chauvinist.
nor for ventriloquists.
say for me
and i will say for you.
regardless of sex.
royal like rex you may come.
red carpets and drum.
lull my eyes
and milk my rum.
i’m a man
who can only love
be she terror to patriarchs
or thighs spread to a victory arch.
be she steeped in tongues
or naive, unmarked, undone.
sweet and unsound.
lost and remaining unfound.
drown my voice and touch me wet.
naked and free, we are we.