Sun - Poem by Oliver Roberts
I wait for you in the morning sun
the morning sun.
Here in the morning sun,
its light burning, burning
setting my hair alight
searing underneath your sleeping eyes.
I’m high up over the sea,
the scent of salt and sex
covering my skin,
the twinkling waves crashing,
below. They know the stories,
the waves carry the stories
we told each other last night,
the narrative of our hands,
your neck spread open
over my mouth
like an alphabet of apricots.
I lean on the balcony,
I move and stretch my legs,
I touch my wounds
and lick the taste of your breath
still warm on my lips
as the sea breeze
with its cool tongue
lashes it baubles across my chest.
Magnificent, I reflect onto you,
slipping handfuls of sun, sun, sun
across the still sheets
where you lie
and I fill your sleep
with the things I’ve still got left
to give to you.
I have baskets of creases,
I have palms full of warm dough,
I have a jacket made of jasmine,
I have two eyes that serve love
fresh on a plate with dripping fruit.
I have you all over me.
I listen to the sky,
the sky holding your thumps,
holding the sound of your hips,
placing drifting clouds inside the day,
promising a distant thunder later
again as we lie side by side
tracing mazes into our faces.
You have not stirred.
The sheets retain your shape.
You sleep there,
your form like an oriental country,
slow and hot and aromatic.
The day rises from your breasts.
I look down.
The beach is full, full, full of people.
I close my eyes.
How after seeing you like this,
as glorious as this,
can I ever look
at another person in the same way?
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