Pine-needle mystic, slim and green, serenely
unlaced from freeze, with fitful nightclothes tugged
from spinning, cone-worn skin: I hold you keenly;
your solar breath, your leaf - let's get unplugged,
get off the water grid, and touch our cells -
your khaki pectin clothing, warm and rough,
my lysosome, all-coveting. Motel
vacuoles engulf us: uncurbed, we slough
our skins and eat them, married in the eyes
of God and nature. I don't need an omen;
I only hope to see the past: the wise
Great Basin pine, the sacred fig, the Roman
chamomile. Rouse these cells before they wilt
again. I bare them; drown them in your silt.
1 comment:
Wowers! Erotic and intriguing, not to mention, a gorgeous traditional variety of the beloved sonnet! Impressive and alluring, mystifying.
Awesome imagery, lovely internal rhyming (or can't I call it assonance?) such as the first line, for ex.
Chamomile, figs, pine, lysosome, skinned...la, but it is luxurious and irresistible yet elusive.
Lovely, I like it very much, still curious.
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