Free Verse # 388 (itinerant heart)

Winter moon
in the aching window…
you, my insomnia,
combing my hair,
your breath
in the pathless night
weaving all my ways,
your fragrance
a candle keeping vigil
in the sinews of my veins.


Your poem
a voracious thing
in the hollow
of the moonless night
biting at my skin,
veins deep spewing
the melody of its blood,
its ferocious ink.


Anise and incense…
the oars of your breath
splashing in my skin


Itinerant heart selling tea
In a breath of poetry


Night falls –
her blood and mine
one inkwell,
all the poets of the world
dipping their pen
into our hearts and writing
the holy name of love.


Night falls –
the silence
a skin of dew lacing
our tangled bodies,
merging in a soft fusion
the seams of our skin,
our joined breath



Her body she offers,
a sea to be crafted
by the ink of his fire,
exalted on the altar
of lust and poetry.

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