The Meeting at Midnight When the House is Silent. . .

The meeting at midnight when the house is silent

The brush of hips

words whispered in shadows

Rhythm of skin to skin

a cadence nature created

Flesh wound to bones

bones to soul

gone

Long nights returning to an empty house

Years straining against an empty promise

Silence drawn into wood

like a breath held too deep too long
 

Reviews

[Don Coorough]

You write quite well. The one line in here that I find awkward, the only thing I would change about it to improve the poem, is "Years straining against an empty promise" which I don't think paints any additional pictures or other sensations. You could cut it and the poem would still say the same thing, so it doesn't add additional material necessary to the reader. But, my goodness, you do write very concretely. I enjoyed this! -EllisD