Trying Not
I can feel this
potential
(like headlights, far off
cresting a dark sky)
feel the pulse
of limbs long forgotten
stretch
and unfurl
eloquently (the sun
in your eyelashes is
a poem I must write)
Your frightening beauty
cleaves
a February Lake
(beaded light dressing
your summer stained skin)
and when I stand
behind you to kiss
the water off your spine
(your splendor
made me shy)
I feel this potential
(a firefly
captured in my palm)
stir.
No comments:
Post a Comment