When my lover will come and I will hear her feet,
I will tear that hour from the fabric of unreliable time
and hang the musk of that hour like a flag
and stitch it to the bloodied walls of my memory.
When my lover will come and I will hear her feet,
I will slave my heart beats to the drowsy sound of her anklets
as she will step on my spreading desire,
drowning that hour with the spreading mist of her scent.
When my lover will come and I will hear her feet,
I will read out all the words that I know to her,
and throw away all the blank papers I own as
she will write her name on each moment of that captive time.
When my lover will come and I will hear her feet,
I will hide all the awkward din of my awkward heart
as I will touch each strand of her long brown hair
and tie her hair and myself in knots.
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4 comments:
this is so beautiful - i also remained tied in the knot of those two ending lines - i think i might borrow them for the Bridge, sometime!
that would be an undeserved honour!
wonderful. really enjoyed your poems today.
Exquisite! The most potent is the last stanza, especially:
"will hide all the awkward din of my awkward heart
as I will touch each strand of her long brown hair
and tie her hair and myself in knots."
As if you too are a strand of her long brown hair, which you touch languorously, as you tie into a knot: her hair and yourself. Lovely.
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