Foolish lovers we were,
Twining our fingers- cat's cradle.
Sick to our hearts on fanciful things like poetry and idle
Youthful dancing.
I found you crowned, strangely, in wreaths of poppy,
Dirt 'neath your nail beds
And found you all the more lovelier because of it.
You found me, hands dug raw in the dark lakes,
Rowing towards the edge of Earth,
And whispered that I was too kind a bedmate to Death,
O' but these foolish loves
Were not meant to be examined too keenly,
And you guided my jaw, to the quiet pink skies,
Where we laid all day on a bed of poppy,
Boat easing towards the edge of Earth,
Giggling of sumptuous pleasantries amidst the clouds
With limbs twined— cat's cradle
And hearts sick on love.
YOU ARE READING
wildflowering
PoetryA selection of love letters, diary entries, prose, poetry and fragments of writing. "I find you where there might have once been a horizon, smudged between the esoteric press of lips and folding of hands; I find you in the immemorial gasp between b...
