|
The Small Momentous |
Afternoon sun
burnished her young body.
I primped her thighs, her face,
with intricate fingers,
smelled the strangeness
of her long curly hair.
A secret meadow,
nature's beauty,
warm spring air,
and a willing young woman -
what was I supposed to do?
float a balloon? fly a kite?
She lay on her back,
delicately scratched,
fondly bruised,
unaware of a drop of blood
on the grass tip
by her leg.
Forty kisses of her lips
and one of her navel -
all in a mouth's work,
with a smattering of tender words
of course.
I remember her breath
more than anything,
how light it was
and yet sticky like dew.
She muttered something
about us being together forever.
It was definitely a mutter
and not a clear statement of intent.
At least,
that was how time heard it.
copyright 2017
John
Grey |
