Free Verse # 406 (Dieu peignant le monde)

It’s been a thousand years
since you slept in my bed,
yet, each dawn I wake
with my head drowning
in the garden of your hair
still blooming on my pillow.


I persist by the grace of poetry.


In vain I searched for you until
in my heart I heard your voice saying,
Now, wherever I look I find you,
the breath living in me
and beating closer
than my own life and death.


With tender feet
you walked into my poem,
my words aglow
with the fragrance of your skin
spoke a fire
ancient as the world,
quivered as dewdrops
from their lips came pouring
onto the parched lips
of the world.


peignant le monde
a trempé sa plume
dans l’encrier de son corps.


painting the world
dipped his brush
in the inkwell of her body.

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