Thursday, January 21, 2010
Drunk at a conference - so why not post a poem?!
I love the way your hand moves
always to lie upon the curve of my hip.
As though it is a crescent bay
your touch returning again and again
rising and lowering like the tides.
A heavenly body
your hand circling in orbit before
landing gently on the surface.
I hope that to you
it feels like home.
I imagine you feel a vague restless longing;
that something undefinable
makes every return a homecoming.
the smell of woodsmoke
a front porch light
that you know I am here waiting.
I'm proud of myself for putting SOMETHING up every week here lately. My muse has taken to whispering in my ear again. May he linger past the heartbreak this time around.