Carol Borsello Poems

Sometimes pen to paper is my only touch
A sensual congress of eager words, fumbling ink
Caressing strokes of wet to dry on crowded sheets
Wrinkled with sweat, daubed with tears
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Just when I think some practical
Doom will crash upon my shore,
The storm abates; sun breaks, rainbows double.
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The inoffensive plant
Quietly furls her leaves
Her thirst so profound; it pains…
Living inches from the kitchen sink…
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You will always be walking
Toward me under the full sun
Slightly smiling
Like an angel
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What I know is this: it changes
By moving everything else in my world out & away
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If the ocean had taken me
I would have become a Siren
I would have found a rock
To pull myself up upon
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