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Click here1.
I lie on my back and look up
into the envelope of dark, where
your body appears like an inverted sea.
My eyes trace the gentle swell
of belly, of thigh, the tight
ripple where the bare crease of labia
meet between your legs.
I wish only to cast
my lips and tongue
over that still pacific surface
so I may settle in before the storm.
2.
You are not you in this dream.
You are a tiny woman in a thin white shift
that rides high over your hips.
We have only spoken once
at a great distance, yet
you offer your breasts to me
with both hands.
There is no need for talk
and this woman does not speak, although
my ears are pressed and pierced
by her animal sound.
You are not you in this dream,
yet is this you.
3.
There is
no third dream, just
wistfulness.
I am in chains, like Prometheus.
It is not an eagle that eats my liver
but want
and held fast in its dull agony
I cannot return to sleep.
Seemed like all one poem to me (but then I'm pretty confused a lot of the time, I have an intamite relationship with chaos) and a damn fine poem at that.
Bluebell, I mean.
You should put this in a gallery and charge admission.
I first read this on the 5 in 5 thread and was quietly bowled over. I still adore the poem, and your workmanship. You have such a gift. It feels like robbery to read this for free. Thank you so much for sharing.
The first dream seems like a separate poem. More like a romantic rendition on a dream (where the following two have more of the raw feeling of a dream). Very artful development of the imagery which keeps a gentle erotic sensation …
The second dream seemed most real (per a dream) in its confusing structure and admittedly highly suggestive raw sexuality.
With the third nightmarish dream, I tried to settle the horrid images with wistfulness but failed. Perhaps you meant pain?