Do you remember how I leapt at your touch?
How your fingers traced goose bumps,
springing as flowers do,
while my lips, my eyes
ate you like evening eats sun,
the birdsong, the shade.
I was turned as a butterfly is turned, in your hands,
dying, while you marvelled at my bright colours,
my swift wings,
my eyes blinking in the sky.
You are like the emptiness set in doorways
when revels are gone.
I would wear you as you wore me, in halls,
on floors, our legs like winking rain,
and I would touch you,
again, and again.
I wish your words had stayed like velvet
on my tongue, and they had not eaten me,
beaten me, I wish
you looked as I do,
desperately, desperately.
To the poet, my darling,
your tomb on the hill
says I love you, I love you,
as you wear away still.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 2:39 AM UTC
Do you remember how I leapt at your touch?
How your fingers traced goose bumps,
springing as flowers do,
while my lips, my eyes
ate you like evening eats sun,
the birdsong, the shade.
I was turned as a butterfly is turned, in your hands,
dying, while you marvelled at my bright colours,
my swift wings,
my eyes blinking in the sky.
You are like the emptiness set in doorways
when revels are gone.
I would wear you as you wore me, in halls,
on floors, our legs like winking rain,
and I would touch you,
again, and again.
I wish your words had stayed like velvet
on my tongue, and they had not eaten me,
beaten me, I wish
you looked as I do,
desperately, desperately.
To the poet, my darling,
your tomb on the hill
says I love you, I love you,
as you wear away still.
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