MM.11:124AVERIL BONES
Moonlight & Late Breezes
Falling asleep to moonlight's touch and late breezes,
our feet not even touching but close, and then
waking in slow death of dawn's darkness
to see your foreign face come clearer,
stirring, breathing, on verge of waking
and I cannot help but reach out to touch
your hair, just your hair,
so that you do not feel the shake in my fingers
and the sick rippling in my belly
the softness of my hankering and fear.
Without opening your eyes, (dawn's rise quick now)
you place one palm on my forearm, and
I feel my own hesitation in your tremor,
the glint of morning on your eye
and thrill from deep in lust's primal source;
awkward I roll into your arm's lock,
and feel the endless tension ease from my mind
to be caught up by the muscles
whose fibres your breathless caress ignites
and whose quiver laughs along with morning's bird song
Poem, © 2000, AVERIL BONES
(all rights reserved; To copy or translate this poem, please contact the poet)
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