Free Verse # 350 (shipwrecked amid her thighs)

At night I touch my neck,
feel the nook where your fingers
carved themselves a nest
and a poem of unbearable warmth
suddenly fills my chest,
bursts to flame like a candle
with a tender caress lighting
an immemorial past.

~

His words
kissing her ears,
seashells divulging
the secret of the sea.

~

Poète – c’est celui qui écoute le monde exister avant l’aube de bruit et voix, dans la nuit du cœur-soleil.

~

Sa voix s’étendait
sans limite,
un silence intime
coulant du ciel.

~

In the shadow
of our kiss
the bloom
of silence

~

Even as I die
your shining beauty
full moon in the sky

~

In the forest
we leave the dead
where they fall be,
and watch them in spring
become sighing flowers
and wild birds that sing.

~

Her body
a forest of poetry
pronounced sacred
even before divinity,
into the clear obscure
of her spaces
poets wander
and are lost
unto eternity.

~

The poem I left at night
shipwrecked amid her thighs
at dawn flutters anew
and flows from her eyes

~

Her kiss didn’t come
in a single burst,
like stars in the nightsky
it came strewn
all over my life,
over the course
of a lifetime.

~

His fingers
course her skin,
each trail
a furrow of wine and fire
sinking to her veins,
in the soil of her flesh
growing
the essence of poetry.

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