Friday 31 March 2017

Not All The Time

 
Something. Sometimes.
And then, not much.
Sometimes, reached for, and
sometimes, untouched, unspoken,
inconstant, undone...
sometimes, the moon,
...then pushed away
by the sun;
and yet;
here,
and bringing,
only love,
never waxing, nor waning,
it fits
like a glove of
satin, a tender caress,
one hour: more
the next; less, than ever,
made small
un-needed,
footprints in a soul and a heart:
bleeding,
when it is not
quietly
sleeping,
in the warmth
of an honest embrace - when
it cannot, smile
and press it's face,
to the safety,
of a rhythmic chest...
breathing calmly, in a feather-bed
nest,
as certain
as the stars will shine...
given,
over
wholly,
to something
that need not
be defined.
   

Tuesday 21 March 2017

Fresh

    
In the twilight, I slipped back
between the sheets,
where I tried to re-enter
my precious sleep, in the empty
space I was expected to be, now that the sun
was rising. A deepening orange,
heated the horizon,
and victoriously, heralded day,
and I knew I was no longer
supposed to need,
all those creases, carelessly made -
I was supposed to pretend and turn away,
from that which I knew to be right, supposed to
see now, the fading night,
as something erased, by dawn. And it was not so
easy then to stay warm; amongst those illicit, untidy thoughts,
without some assurance
inside. I rolled and stretched; a chained sort of sigh;
buried my face and tried to hide,
as the light,
slid deft fingers between the curtains.
Only one thing was all too certain,
when I could bring myself, to draw them :
a crescent moon, hung stubborn, in the morning,
golden against the sky –
and loyally, it hung there ‘til lunchtime,
to remind me, that it
would remember, and keep,

the night.