you broke the dawn ceilings dragging the roots of midnight's trees behind you bearing yourself upward and being born by the feathery silence of the canopy
the leaves made the light sidestep around my eyes as you created fractal notes above me
sometimes this would go on for days until a telephone a bang on the wall or some such would yank me back to the mundane page of skin and sweat
not that i don't enjoy these too
sometimes during the orange lines of dawn i would stare at your blued eyelids heavy and careless and sometimes troubled other times i would study your back or the curve between your neck and your small shoulder the pores there
a single phrase runs wildy in my palms singing: "there is nothing so important as your breast in my hand"
dear anna there are no gods or goddesses that i have witnessed in this world but on some mornings your snoring is as close to prayer as i'm likely to get
I like the flow and pace of the poem. The use of imagery is spot on. You use eroticism with great care (which is rare to find in the current poetic climate). All in all, an enjoyable read on this lovely Tuesday.