MARRIAGE
Love has not the power
to steal salt from the sea,
it does not wash the dishes
or cast out yesterday's trash,
reeking in the hallway,
it cannot fill the emptiness
of a starless sky.
But if you can reach a lover's hand
amid the swelling storm,
and hold on, even for one
fluttering second, you may look
out the kitchen window
and see a rose branch, headless,
thorns dripping with rain,
and roil in the beauty.
Christina Hile
09 August 2008
01 August 2008
Poetic Asides Weekly Prompt
COMING AT AN END
The art of losing
isn't hard to master;
Nothing can ever
happen twice,
so far be it that
I should repine.
We slept and woke
entering the golden room together,
O how your fingers drowsed me!
Oh, scandal of the honey of twilights!
What a million filaments!
It was lovely then,
But it's lonely in the body;
The sheets grow
heavy as a lecher's kiss.
I am the blossom pressed in a book,
Speckled like a sky;
With the shadow of the moon
at my side, I search
for traces of wildlife
in the white snow.
One cannot
begin it too soon.
The art of losing
isn't hard to master;
Nothing can ever
happen twice,
so far be it that
I should repine.
We slept and woke
entering the golden room together,
O how your fingers drowsed me!
Oh, scandal of the honey of twilights!
What a million filaments!
It was lovely then,
But it's lonely in the body;
The sheets grow
heavy as a lecher's kiss.
I am the blossom pressed in a book,
Speckled like a sky;
With the shadow of the moon
at my side, I search
for traces of wildlife
in the white snow.
One cannot
begin it too soon.
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