Distances glitter between us,
wet,
like lips freshly drawn down a cheek by a slowing tongue.
Freesias dead,
carried upon my shoulder
as a homage to Tennessee,
to the end of Acre's lane.
Men in overcoats working the mud spattered concrete,
glass lodged in the tires of the wheels glued to the road,
greying skies filling my window
just as your lipstick did on the glass
as I watched you fade from view.
A thick veined red print,
full,
memorable.
Putting out the light in the hall before bed,
cold carpet ringlets tangled around my toes,
scented by each star luminating through my slatted blinds
I see the outline of your breast,
your belly.
Safe in a collector's box we lie hidden,
gathering dust,
I looked on as you sank your baby teeth into my shoulder,
into the place where you rest your head,
petals of blonde hair shed in this, Autumn's finest romance.
Printed, my favourite Keats lays on the bedside table,
I drew the outline of your name in his words,
I whispered as I wrote,
the air above the ink waited delicately for it to arrive,
I waited,
I breathed,
and then, in the morning, I saw you home.
wet,
like lips freshly drawn down a cheek by a slowing tongue.
Freesias dead,
carried upon my shoulder
as a homage to Tennessee,
to the end of Acre's lane.
Men in overcoats working the mud spattered concrete,
glass lodged in the tires of the wheels glued to the road,
greying skies filling my window
just as your lipstick did on the glass
as I watched you fade from view.
A thick veined red print,
full,
memorable.
Putting out the light in the hall before bed,
cold carpet ringlets tangled around my toes,
scented by each star luminating through my slatted blinds
I see the outline of your breast,
your belly.
Safe in a collector's box we lie hidden,
gathering dust,
I looked on as you sank your baby teeth into my shoulder,
into the place where you rest your head,
petals of blonde hair shed in this, Autumn's finest romance.
Printed, my favourite Keats lays on the bedside table,
I drew the outline of your name in his words,
I whispered as I wrote,
the air above the ink waited delicately for it to arrive,
I waited,
I breathed,
and then, in the morning, I saw you home.
The picture is Tobias and the Angel, from The Book of Tobit, one of the apocryphal Old Testament books. The angel is the archangel Raphael, who guides young Tobias to a miraculous healing-fish, which saves the sight of Tobias's dad Tobit. Raphael is the patron saint of healing and his symbol is the Caduceus, that staff with the snake or snakes twining round it, used as the symbol of healing by pharmacists down through the ages and up to the present day. Rudolf Steiner said that Raphael is the same being that was known as Mercury and Hermes in antiquity.
Love the poem. It has a stillness that builds, then is broken by those last four words. You almost don't want it to be broken.
F.Y.I. I'm leaving SG anyday now - see you on Facebook or wherever