Poetry Thead

[sbraiden]

"Golden" - from the "Keeper" anthology.

it's the sun settling like a russet peach in the summer grass
and knowing that in a million years
you could never spill it's richness onto canvas brushed.
.
it's the smell of earth after rain when you breathe its heavy musk
and sigh to think that of earth's sweet cinnabar there'll
never be a way to say it so.
.
i see you watching, smile.
my foot seems far too slow to take me there,
for in a million years
i could not put to words this clench
i feel when i steady myself
and cannot catch my breath.
.
you are the ache,
the knot,
the sigh,
the moan,
the moving moments painted on my face
when ___ i ___ stand ___ still.
.
you are the sistine, piscene, unseen cathedral of muscle
that beats in my chest.
.
you are the memory of a future thought,
the echo of a life not lived,
but longed for without patience, without end.
.
you are the one sure path
that a million years of instinct
burns from soul to soles.
.
.
.
and so i walk.