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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3342 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Because We Are Poets Vienna (Carole Barley) Because we are poets, in some way the exact definition is of no consequence. Take this perfume, saddled for the masses with the name ‘Beauty’. It is more a sprawl of Turkish field, redolent with damask, walked through by lovers who find this glory by accident. You do not yet know how I would hold your face in my hands. Words need time and the sparseness of winter trees. The first green leaves will herald an uncurling into blossom, fox footfalls sensed as musk in warming air. I struggle with rosewood and strings, fingers imprinted with lines that stare back from pages inked with hieroglyphs I long to understand. Frustration becomes the distance of your skin, the need to become predator with kohl eyes and Syrian silks. We each gaze into our own silences, people die, love is lost in shopping lists, the desire for more than the neighbours own. I cannot sing, but would dance with you, barefoot, whisper myths that were told to me by owls in my moongarden. Your sadness is the weight of wet velvet, taking my breath, twisting effortlessly between dreamlust and aching romance. People die, love is lost in shopping lists; take off your shoes, dance on these petals of red. |
