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Click hereEyes close with new memories
in three-quarters of moon
lit soft as luminaria, almost
insubstantial but enough
to slip hair, pressing cheek
or dropping
falling
falling
brushing
a shoulder, forearm, hip.
This is the fate of whispering
lips close and laughing loony.
This is the art of painting night
point to compass point, roadways
flower bordered, waterways speak,
star fields yield to sun. This is a song.
The fate of breath held long,
then breathed, then shared--
the dancing with no net,
the tightrope walking air.
The last three stanzas of this poem suggested subtly yet intensely all that was beneath these words.... There's no flesh in this poem, but it is beautifully erotic. My favorite lines: "star fields yield to sun" and then the next two lines: "The fate of breath held long, /then breathed, then shared--" May we all share this fate.
I've enjoyed that Luna sliver the same way. Very nice visual imagery you have here, Ange.
this is not a perfect poem, but the way your words flow is so impressive / i learn a lot about style and grip reading your work / keep writing and posting / that is a selfish request, since i can't get enough of your poetry /
...are buried in this poem? The lines are:
This is the fate of whispering
lips close and laughing loony.
This is the art of painting night
Perhaps my mind is a tad too confoozdinated this morning, but it felt like two different poems fighting to be heard.