Thursday, February 27, 2020

River Tweed Bed

The train just passed and whispered your name as I lay in my river Tweed bed.
I keep wondering why you’re not here.
I see your smirk in the desk top mirror,
though I’m looking at my own reflection. I prefer your face.
Especially when it’s near mine.
I want to Velcro my parted lips to yours and not have to let go.
Shall we run away together someday?
Seize time and collect postcards from every place we feel those three overused words?

The triad bursts from my mouth like fireworks and I expect my tongue to burn.
But I just taste notes reminiscent of jasmine pearls.
I’m tea stained, soaking in your warm arpeggio of tears.
A shower of pelagic pleasure dissipates the fear that your embrace will one day disappear,
like dream-work condensation in a drought.

I’m blue tonight, though, because nothing seems enough.
I just want to hear you whisper my name as we float in a sea of tangled limbs.
Your hands in mine. My lost soul is seeking an unerring compass
to the path that bears to your deepest heart.
I am a flood of desire when it comes to you.
I often find romance hopeless, but I’m threading my lyrics of love to create for you a blanket.
It’s kind of ragged, but it will keep you warm.

When the train passes again I’ll be on it.
And when it sweetly sings your name I’ll hold my breath.
The tunnel will come and I’ll pray for a light at the end
That comes with dream drenched sleep.
The sight of your beautiful face.
Until then I’m in this beach house, listening to the crackling wind and Sufjan,
Curled up in my water woven words for you.
Let this love not unravel.

The rains are coming and that’s the time to breathe you in once again.
Upon the dark spring we'll lie in, together, until we float along Orion.
Those perennial three just may point us home.


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