they make love like thieves, stealing everything.

they make love like thieves, stealing everything.

mikl paul

 

they may be    on a rooftop    or

they may be   against a tree. 

 

and    the lines of her back

      are not    about him.

 

her shirt rises    in time with

    the moon    and are those  shadowed

limbs   proving that he is a forest or that she

   is a cityscape that has just begun

  

to grow.

 

he wants her to come

                    to the place    where

   the poem responds to her body

   pressing back.         skirt lifted

  as if     tide,   meadows,   a climb that

    one loves.

 

glancing over the pale border of her

   shoulder         do you see me

       and how you’ve begun to

 

grow.            and her breasts              overwhelm

   his hands,     and his eyelids retreat,     through

the vacancy    of  grateful and           overwhelm.

 

    there are sirens      and other myths.    her hand

braces against the skins of trees        to not move

    away       as he moves away        and returns.

 

should one believe the severed home      strung between

    a finger tracing    a haunted mouth      or the

 pace   of his forgetting to   the   time   of   winds

      and   what       colors     and   what   but

  she wants him to come            to the end of

     some shapeless bridge    and describe to me

what you see     as I clench      your dream between

    my teeth      and my promise to accept    any

  ending that resembles         joy            or

      the crescent silhouette of your hips

            or a leaf    falling    or   a fire escape

     burning     and tell me what part    of the

 poem I am churning    into   dust    and   what

     savage     calm     is   that heaving from your chest

     against my back    and I want you     to.  

 

Reviews

[emmajoy]

'and her breasts overwhelm
his hands, and his eyelids retreat, through
the vacancy of grateful and overwhelm. '

An incredibly passionate poem, starts, takes off and carries through the most
wonderful ride, not crude, not overtly graphic - but visibly seen in the very clever lay-out. It should be read .. ..

' .... the crescent silhouette of your hips
or a leaf falling or a fire escape
burning and tell me what part of the
poem I am churning into dust and what
savage calm is that heaving from your chest
against my back and I want you to. '

[mikl paul]

thank you. i love this poem.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Passion and a penchant for stratigic phrasing and word placement...nicely written. I like the beat, enjoyed the slightly stuttering nature of the breaking, and I could feel and see the imagery.

[mikl paul]

thank you so much. i tend to always write scenes.

[Ken Simm.]

The method, the subject matter, the passionate gasps in which one must read this all contribute to a very beautiful write. Each line seems to give a metaphor for loving. Lovely.

[mikl paul]

thank you sir.

[Ohhhwillow]

This is very beautiful, your portrayal of tender lust is both intricate and inviting, something those of us lucky enough to have experienced can relate to, and others long for. Very lovely piece. :)

[mikl paul]

thank you so much willow.

[saratogaparty]

Oh this line has quite the ring to it:

"as I clench your dream between

my teeth"

Loved this poem, passion portrayed in an original way.

[mikl paul]

thank you!

[John Destalo]

Love it!!! This is one of those pieces that says to me, "I am not going to release you until I am ready." I am jealous of these words. When I do readings I try to combine my pieces and not allow people to applaud (release their energy) until I want them to, which is a challenge. I wish I could write more with this level of compressed energy.

[mikl paul]

thank you sir. was very happy to find your writing as well.

[Sami Khalil]

A nice poem. Thank you for sharing...