Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Lying between Her Legs in the Wet Grass

Rain falls, a breeze ruffles the few hairs on their naked bodies,
He is about to enter her and close the door behind him.
They don’t know how they got here, or where the destination was.
She embraces him with one hand, guides him home with the other.
He’s been alive too long to feel the way she makes him shudder.
Little ponds swell pouring over under her. He pulls her on top,
he has not had his fill of her and he grows as young as she’s become.

If this is a love poem I will fill my hat with flowers and sell them cheap
by the avenue that sweeps up from the south and rain follows,
and that way go alone back the way I came with fresh seeds
to sow in the rain. How else can I afford the payment of passage?
Someone writes from nowhere I can remember being, nor do
I want to go there. I have found the quarry of flesh I love
because there is laughter here before and after our long ride.

(27 February 2013)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander

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