Trev recalls in verse a night at the cottage as Em sleeps quietly by his side.Translated from the original Hynerian.
rainy here
and cold
good night to be under the covers
to fall asleep in a spoon
curve on curve
merlon and crenel
the warmth of flesh
the breath of desire
whispers as fingers
lobes as candy
parting of lips
and dance of tongues
playful and darting
firm in repair
of hips moving
without command
and legs twinning
as vines laid bare
the air humid
and sheets as dunes
midnight watching
as clocks tune
and a hand traces
like a snake
between valleys
and over like rakes
and we speak
in sighs
and tremulous lips
as eyes half baked
bend and dip
and upon the touch
does back doth arch
an ancient art
as fingers part
the words just flow
and I see you there
your skin in light
warm and glow
as shadows dance
on walls not low
and fingers prance
to much delight
and I do my best
to reach your height
for the night knows
many a lovers
but none yet
as under our covers
The pearl I peek
a twirl I seek
to see you look
neck's divine crook
your legs as tents
upon my shade
I trace your tenderness
and watch your chest
as heave tells me
I like this sea
so my hand reaches
for one who teaches
a smile I seek
a moment to sneak
dreams of smells
and textures
of hair and skin
and sparkle in eye
of curves on cotton
and bodies aged
plied by hands
taking their time
and moans as bells
tolling the night
and necks craned
and pillows drained
as hair rivers
the heavenly smile
and where one beckons
the other calls
and where one opens
the other arrives
a greeting new
a kiss below
petals aflame
parting they must
for what is natural
commands the lust
as an intake of breath
signals union
and eyes as saucers
rimmed in starlight
strain to see
a sight most welcome
of one
into
other
the gates be rushed
and the courtyard taken
of spoils and such
all fair maidens
of skirts pleated
soon to be
of knight repleted
11 comments:
The thought calls that this poem is best-loved, and yet directly thereupon the acknowledgement of fact well known that were one to read ones read and ones unwritten, there would be an encore of this verdict. Still, this is loved as best it can be, it is dazzling, delicious, stirring and stunning, exquisite in its kindling of desire, desire for connection, for nurture, for exchange, for experience and liveliness and moments and memories, for love and life shared, body, heart and soul. Goosebump gorgeous, visual, vivid, vital. Replete.
You write so beautifully, beyond words to describe.
My dearest Sunshine, you do warm my soul with words like no other. Thank you and may your weekend sparkle like a young girl's eyes before her first kiss. :-)
Sometimes I wonder if sex with you would be as amazing as your writing ! You are so detailed, so sensual, so hungry for connection, so willing to reciprocate.
Annie, I am the aroma before the meal, the honey that glistens on your bun, the sound of wine pouring into crystal, the clink of cufflinks on the night table, the glow of sandalwood candles, the brush of the back of my hand on your shoulder and the whisper on your pillow. Other than that, I have nothing to say. :-D
Almost an hour since I first read this. I have to read it every few minutes because there is so much to take in. I want to drink it slow. Amazing.
Lucila, that is the spirit it by which it was written, the night eternal, time frozen between arms and legs and sheets, the moon and stars as our witness and the cool night breeze fanning our lust where movement is to nowhere that the mind isn't already, where legs move on instinct and arms as pulled by the creator himself.
Thank you for the wonderful compliment. :-)
I have no words in response except that your comments make the most excellent chaser. You're welcome, and thank you. ;-)
Well, those that know me know I like dessert after the main course and I have highly refined and discriminating taste. A little cognac doesn't hurt either, a warmth unequalled even by the hardiest vine, regardless of time for the sister spirit is as the divine fire on tongue and throat. :-)
Slightly tipsy...and I don't have to mix my own drinks, lol.
I haven't figured it out yet, but I need to do something with this poem. Still, now, though I have read it several times, it is as stirring, so much so one hesitates before reading. As with the images, my thoughts turn to the dream house and the dedication of a room to this poem, sumptuous cushions before calligraphed walls, or, and this is not the first time that I have imagined this room, those times via your images...should you ever watch Helen of Troy, where Helen joins Troy as he is bathing, the water reflecting upon the walls, in that way, somehow, via light, like water reflecting, shimmering across the walls, the verses.
Shimmering is a wonderful way to put this poem. Always, it feels, just out of reach, ephemeral, as smoke from a candle twirling upward on a summer night. We can enjoy it but we can't hold it and so we have to deal with it on its terms, not ours. :-)
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