November,
and rosehips flare against the low-slung sky.
I grew up an autumn ago,
exiled from the arms that I knew so well,
and now I walk the rabbit road
with a lover from the north country.
We have harnessed our dreams together
with the indemnity of each kiss, but always
I remember my unburned body
made of onyx, made of ivory, made of clay,
made for the man of wheat and sea.
and rosehips flare against the low-slung sky.
I grew up an autumn ago,
exiled from the arms that I knew so well,
and now I walk the rabbit road
with a lover from the north country.
We have harnessed our dreams together
with the indemnity of each kiss, but always
I remember my unburned body
made of onyx, made of ivory, made of clay,
made for the man of wheat and sea.
posted by Lanja at 3:28 AM
1 Comments:
A poem of Sander.
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“And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing.”
–I Corinthians 13:3
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“...made of all the gold
and of all the silver,
made of all the wheat
and of all the earth,
made of all the water
of the sea waves,
made for my arms,
made for my kisses,
made for my soul.”
–Pablo Neruda
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