With all your expert mouth and
tongue of many tribes you
call me to the dance floor
of your poetry.
I ear your accent, I tongue the
vowels of your incredible name
which blossoms every morning.
I bed to your brown eyes when
touch begs rest from incessant
breathing.
You are wheat chaff and I am
the wind which blows over the dead dreams of aged memory.
I understand now the satiety
of your love. The desert of
uncertainty where the bridge
of your wanderings
crossed my month
of ecstasy.
You are the list I take to
mind's far places when
thoughts of you are
exhausted.
Caroline Shank
Nov 18, 2021
Nov 18, 2021 at 2:56 PM UTC
With all your expert mouth and
tongue of many tribes you
call me to the dance floor
of your poetry.
I ear your accent, I tongue the
vowels of your incredible name
which blossoms every morning.
I bed to your brown eyes when
touch begs rest from incessant
breathing.
You are wheat chaff and I am
the wind which blows over the dead dreams of aged memory.
I understand now the satiety
of your love. The desert of
uncertainty where the bridge
of your wanderings
crossed my month
of ecstasy.
You are the list I take to
mind's far places when
thoughts of you are
exhausted.
Caroline Shank
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