Ode to an Acorn Held between an Absent Lover's Lips
In Springour timely blossoms bloomed
buds glowing
playful flowing
then not knowing
why you fled
me.
While you did flee
for reasons
all your own
for purposes
still unknown
you left me wanting
you.
For months you stayed away
as hibernating buds
sleep Winter's cold and ice
as oak trees freeze endure
though dead to view
they swear return is sure
for us.
Long Winter came and went
but you held out,
as Beech nuts crackled whispers
to the wind
wild Dogwoods barking
cherry blossoms bursting flora
for themselves.
Dried acorns hid
beneath the blankets
thick and white
unmelted in dark shadows
cool embrace
caught face to face
between erotic lips.
Then searching new horizons'
dim lit ridges 'cross the sea
I saw no hint of your return
as once it was with me
and sought the oak
where once we sat
upon a grassy ridge.
I flipped through pages of your voice
enscribed in passion's verse
saw wordless sounds as only you
could pen blank pages, white
and though I never saw your face
rose up in love with you
instead of "fell."
Beneath my feet crisp acorns broke
their fate unto their death resealed
till some sweet respite called them forth
to witness by my side
my vows renewed to just the wind
to take it far and near
to reach your mind.
My eyes like timeless shutter blinked
for long eternity it seemed
awaiting dream,
and took what seemed to be your hand
and kissed those empty shaded tips
and held that wayward oaken seed
between my waiting lips.
Your spirit came in stealthy waves
that wrapped my body warm
as if the cloak of you were there
to save us from what harm
may have befallen me in dreams
in this where I alone
stand 'neath that massive oak.
One hand outreaches for your palm
as never done before
and angel's breath exhaled as balm
sweet scented all around
and drew me deep into its sphere
and laid me on the ground.
Then there we stayed till morning broke
with dawn's aurora veil
its swirling colors wrapping us
with words we never spoke
and solemn sleep kept sombre watch
while both of us alone
together feeling tender stroke
that never happened there
till hours after we awoke
to dewy morning air
that told us, you and me,
where fiction lovers dare
we live for each eternally
beneath this oaken tree.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 467 times
Written on 2007-03-14 at 01:06
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