09-05-2013, 04:18 PM
ln meadows crushed by children running, we played the hiding game
until the suns found other things to tempt us in our draining innocence.
Soon moons became our chaperones; each turned the other way. We slipped
into our sharing, touching nakedness, lying for hours in chill-edged joy.
I tasted you and sucked pink clover, chewed the sweet white stems
of summer grass. You buttercupped your chin and made me do it, too.
There never was a rainy day. Memories hold no umbrellas but shaded
under blackened branch we stained our love on wet and silver bark.
On dull, damp days I put my arms around the same still living tree
and taste the cool but saltless drops; barely a mingled memory
of you, once licked so tenderly from warm and beaded brow.
I lie beside you every night and try to bring the pictures into frames;
without familiarity or unwanted fingers touching you awake.
Each morning we eat oatmeal and peaches, drink orange juice
and coffee from white cups. We never talk the way we used to do;
but I look lovingly on you and see things that I never saw before.
It still does not seem right, somehow.
tectak
2013
....from advice to milo...it just seemed llike a good end for a poem!
until the suns found other things to tempt us in our draining innocence.
Soon moons became our chaperones; each turned the other way. We slipped
into our sharing, touching nakedness, lying for hours in chill-edged joy.
I tasted you and sucked pink clover, chewed the sweet white stems
of summer grass. You buttercupped your chin and made me do it, too.
There never was a rainy day. Memories hold no umbrellas but shaded
under blackened branch we stained our love on wet and silver bark.
On dull, damp days I put my arms around the same still living tree
and taste the cool but saltless drops; barely a mingled memory
of you, once licked so tenderly from warm and beaded brow.
I lie beside you every night and try to bring the pictures into frames;
without familiarity or unwanted fingers touching you awake.
Each morning we eat oatmeal and peaches, drink orange juice
and coffee from white cups. We never talk the way we used to do;
but I look lovingly on you and see things that I never saw before.
It still does not seem right, somehow.
tectak
2013
....from advice to milo...it just seemed llike a good end for a poem!