(poem to a lover)
this I long to see
the habit and labour that wears
smooth the skin, splits lines
into the palms of your hands
strips of bark peeled back
and curling.
fingertips not quite
a match against my own
alluvial whorls caught in
the elbow bend of a river
roots burrowing into loam.
patterns not yet uncovered by snow.
February, 2008, park rose ©
3 comments:
Oh, rose. That is beautiful. What a lovely metaphor. Thanks for sharing it.
You can call me Sue or Susan, but I do not answer to Susie! :P
Thanks glo (Sue).
Funny, I don't answer to Susan. Most people call me Sue, and those really close call me Susie. Family sometimes calls me Suso. :)
Most people call me Bow...This is awesome rose...and Thanks for saying what you said.
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