After the first astounding rush,
after the weeks at the lake,
the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks,
the snow breaking under our boots like skin,
& the long mornings in bed. . .
After the tangos in the kitchen,
& our eyes fixed on each other at dinner,
as if we would eat with our lids,
as if we would swallow each other. . .
I find you still
here beside me in bed,
(while my pen scratches the pad
& your skin glows as you read)
& my whole life so mellowed & changed
that at times I cannot remember
the crimp in my heart that brought me to you,
the pain of a marriage like an old ache,
a husband like an arthritic knuckle.
Here, living with you,
love is still the only subject that matters.
I open to you like a flowering wound,
or a trough in the sea filled with dreaming fish,
or a steaming chasm of earth
split by a major quake.
You changed the topography.
Where valleys were,
there are now mountains.
Where deserts were,
there now are seas.
We rub each other,
but we do not wear away.
The sand gets finer
& our skins turn silk.
After the first astounding rush, after the weeks at the lake, the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks, the snow breaking under our boots like skin, & the long mornings in bed...' amazing words for an amazing way to live
A high standard evaluated poem so nicely presented. What happens after earthquake has fantastically been composed.. like.. You changed the topography. Where valleys were, there are now mountains. Where deserts were, there now are seas. We rub each other, but we do not wear away..Thanks for posting such fascinated poem. Congratulation for this poem as a poem of the day...10
We have to go through much ups and downs in life and it is better to fight them out and live in peace. We rub each other, but we do not wear away. The sand gets finer & our skins turn silk. is the gist of the beautiful poem here. Loved it. Congrats.
i like this poem thanks how did you make it how did it inspire you do you like making poem how many poems have you written do you know anyone that makes poems?
i like this poem how did you think about it and how did you make it
Here, living with you, love is still the only subject that matters. I open to you like a flowering wound,