Free Verse # 435 (I dreamed of touching her)

My photograph. Tannourine Cedar Trees Reserve, January 2019

Like freshly fallen snow,
its immaculate whiteness
keeping track
of the slightest movement
of animals, trees, and wind,
her skin holds
the traces of my words
as they drip from my pen,
as they stir in my soul.

~

Ma mémoire de toi
est comme l’eau
qui coule toujours
dans le berceau
du rêve océanique
de ta chair

~

For miles and miles
I drove through the night
to find her lying naked
by the chimney
her shimmering skin aching
for a drop of poetry

~

Her perfume,
though softer
than the moon’s light
falling through the clouds,
its billows carry me
to shores unknown
to mankind.

~

I dreamed
of touching her
silently
slowly
completely
so that my touch
would fill her
like the light
gently pours
to fill the sky at dawn

~

Your reply
to the letter
I sent you years ago –
at dawn
a bird singing
on my windowsill.

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Letter, January 17, 2016

We drank wine and tea, wrote our hearts as poetry, and spent the winter sleeping together, making love as the snow erased the world outside, muffling everything into a pure white. Under the cover of snow the house slept while inside our bodies shivering against each other flickered like a tender flame, burned a fire of unimaginable intimacy and warmth. Inside we melted into a soft glowing river as on the house and all around snow kept piling, erasing, muffling, knitting everything into a blanket of exquisite white. The world faded and forgot us, let us slip away as we, that winter, covered by the snow, became heart and warmth, the internal hearth that sustains the flesh of the earth.