brushfires

These arms are lengths of old kindling, 

and your every word is a wisp of cherry smoke rolling across pooled water colored midnight.

I bend like warped wood to embrace the lick of your flames,

and the warmth and salt and sweat and ache of our Great Work will be our testament,

and the flood that wets my chin will let me know that I am drowning in you.

The morning will bring a gentle wave to knock loose the tethers of our nightly facade,

and your brown eyes awash in a great warmth will write me countless love letters,

so that only we will know where we hung the moon.

Reviews

[M. Shepherd]

This would make me drool and mooney-eyed like the teeniest beatlemanic bopper were it written for me - it is all the code and secrecy of two lovers without revealing the secret itself.

[wolfshrew]

A romantic tap on the shoulder.

[. serah .]

-- i think this might just be one of the most beautiful love letters i've ever read... -- stunning poetry, monsieur... -- it startles, it whispers, it sings and it details the most magical sweet nothings...

[zombiebird]

This poem is breathtaking. Your imagery is incredible, and it makes the metaphors all the more powerful. The last line captures the feeling of the poem so well, the secret and the power. Your language is so clear and strong, it makes every line marvelous. Truly fantastic job.