Through the brooding waters I see your
sad face elongate, pale to a rippling
sheet, so anxious in your search for me among
unraveled rope splices and green bottom stones.
My totems.
Seaweed cradles my head.
Coral forms my rough cot.
Fish bend for their nightly prayers
at phosphorescent gown's hem.
You pine for a pink-cheeked mirage, dear heart,
her legs still wrapped, laughing, 'round
your waist; not this dead lover more
suitable for Chambered Nautilus or
finned thrashing playmates of the deep.
Taking pity, at last, I drift up
through the fathoms, press ectoplasmic
lips to your warm ones, murmur words
you've waited for these long months
of vigil, until Sirens circle to bear me
out to where only the bravest dare follow.
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5 comments:
Pris,
I love it all, but I especially like it when you address him directly, "You pine for a pink-cheeked mirage, dear heart." I felt the same as I read it.
Lovely.
nancy.
Thanks, both of you. I changed the title to one I thought fit it better. Had been not quite happy with the original 'Only the Brave'. No room in the header box to fit that fact in.
Hi James
I've been working (on paper) with some of the words that throw off the rhythm for me, too, in places. I debated about ectoplasmic, but it's the only word that works for me there so am looking at places where two syllable words could be replace with the same meaning word of one syllable. Online to change one of those now.
Thanks for the feedback.
thanks, Michael...i just found this comment.
Excellent Pris. I am just getting around to commenting on all of the response poems. I love the "seaweed cradles my head" line, very interesting image.
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