Free Verse # 370 (in poetry I confessed everything to you)

Moonstones garden…
a sanctuary hidden
amid her white hills

~

Fresh from love’s spring
the wine I bring you
in a cup of poetry

~

In the soil of love
I will go on planting
poems for trees
even into my old age,
silently nurturing
what I am within.

~

Across the chasm
of a thousand years
I hear you whisper
in my dreams
and feel your touch
unfurl velvet
like a flower blooming
in my bloodstream.

~

You will not come
and I accept it,
alone weaving
your dark hair,
the silk of the night.

~

Around her
the air becomes physical,
the flesh of a poem
burning dark,
veils on eyes shed,
blinding, awakening all
to the truth of her skin.

~

She is a painting I can only touch with the brush of poetry.

~

Ses mains
blanches comme le matin
aux doigts fins
comme les branches
d’un cerisier fleuri
touchent mes yeux et voilà
l’aube de ma vie.

~

Ses mains
blanches comme le matin
aux doigts fins
comme les branches
d’un cerisier fleuri
touchent mes lèvres et voilà
le poème de ma vie.

~

Mon cœur
une fenêtre à l’aube
ébloui par ta lumière

~

Through the night
I rained into her,
soaking her,
and when dawn came
my poem was a moan
blooming on her lips,
luring the world
to come and drink.

~

She falls silent, and I wonder, where does all the noise of the world go?
She speaks, and I wonder, where does all the noise of the world go?

~

Her eyes are dark
yet a white jasmine
lives inside

~

In poetry
I confessed everything to you,
but my voice
in the morning fog
wandered
and was lost;
now with the eastern wind
it blows
somewhere along the hem
of dawn’s burning sky.

~

It happened at night
as the world slept,
the rain of longing fell
and left our skin soaked
in the ache of a dream
older than our memory.

~

I watched her
and she did not notice,
her hands lifting
to undo her hair that fell
in clusters of fragrant wings
that brushed my face,
rushed through my blood.

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