poem24 Jun 2013 08:00 am
“It’s Midsummer night,”
I whisper to you, already asleep;
“if we make love, I’ll conceive
a divine child.
“She will babble a bard’s wisdom,
he will lullaby the darkness down.
Enter me, and enter summer’s kingdom,
let me thaw your winter heart.â€
You protest by shielding
your eyes with your hands.
You don’t waken,
won’t turn to my sun.
I am no fire of bones
startling the wheat to life,
inspiring the poppies’ bloom,
no blazing brand that ignites the green.
But as I undress, a moth encircles me,
travels the briars of my hair,
batters itself against my skin
as if I were a flame.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.