Sun is a weight on skin,
heat pressing down
into the bones,
limbs scattered
all akimbo,
oil slick, sweat slick
gleam of flesh
revealed
in lazy curves,
convexities,
all begging to be
touched
all eager for
apollo's kiss,
a midas touch
that gilds, just
strokes mere colour
on the surface,
light reflecting
from the peaks
deep into valleys
that invite the
greedy eyes
of passers by
to feast, rejoice
and wish they
were the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you have a good eye for observation, midnight. you seem to be able to focus on a very thin sliver of time and make so much out of it! you remind me of an artist who spends time looking at his still life subject and produces all the beautiful detail for the eye to feast on - wonderful! jane s x