Opening Poem by Oliver Roberts

Opening



In the room
is the sea
and its drowned
piano.
A pavement struck
with fierce rain,
your wide
open kisses
swelling up
inside my mouth.
Your eyes to mine,
layers
of wet sunshine
and the interlocking
spaces and folds
with all their fragrant
frictions.
I reach down
from the place
I used to sit
and wait
before
I’d ever touched
you;
solitary and patient
at the window,
curtain of my curiosity
pulled shyly open
as you’d pass by
caged below,
the wings
of your blazing body
fluttering
at the bars.
Everything we need
to live
is here,
even your wrists,
smooth
as a clock face
and repeatedly kissed,
still have something left
to sustain us.
You position yourself again,
circling
and flaunting
in the candlelight,
dropping to the bed.
Then, like a despotic queen,
you release to me,
at your tyrannical will,
all of your opulent wares.

New to me,
your breath
warms my face
and our skins exchange
their stories,
this scar tells that,
and there's one perfect freckle
just below
your hip bone
that normally keeps quiet,
but now, clearly,
giggles wildly
in the right company.
That we are here
like
this
is no longer a surprise,
no longer fearful;
we turn each other
over and
over
like heavy rocks,
curious
to see what's underneath
this one,
that one,
the next one.
I want to know
what you want
to know - what happens
if I bite you here?
Why do all your fingertips
flooding
along my back feel
like sketches of wind?
And how long
have you been waiting
just to have your hand
closed inside mine?
How long?

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success