Quiet
soft –
not quite
surreal
this day is
Sunday
a gray day
a day to
cuddle up
on a sofa
as I steal
some moments of
reading time
and thinking
back
over the
years
looking in
the mirror
of seeing us
in bed or
on beaches
holding
hands
kissing and
laughing
perhaps me enjoying
just
watching your eyes open
in the early
hours
of another
day -
we sleep in
before tea
or coffee
on Sunday
mornings
in Santa Fe
or Los
Angeles or New York.
Later now – memory
takes me admiring
the changing
colors
of a sunset
sky
on a hike
through
mountains
and desert
then making
love
mid-day in
April
playfully
beneath the innocent sky
near our
black rock campground
walking
distance from
El Malpais
National Monument.
The badlands
is our
resting place
for tasting
the tastes
of lovers
sweet kisses
and finding
long sought
after companions.
I see
discovery
on our long
trek
along a dusty
road
to the remote
hot springs
across a
broken wooden bridge
to a hand
cut walk up
a hundred
feet
above the
creek.
Wet and
beautiful
naked and
shimmering
into the
flowing heat
of warm
bliss
you step
into my
heart again
and again.
And the view
extraordinary
This is my
ode
my whispering
into the night
that I
should
live to walk
those simple
trails with you
again -
back packs
swollen with
camping gear
– my lists
your truth
hearts on
our shoulders –
eyes up to
the radiant stars.
O the poetry of love
endless in
it’s paths
a journey
without compass
or map – we
find our way
by touch and
feel
and always
kisses.
Doug Claybourne - A Suite of Poems for L.D. - 05.13
Copyright © 2013 Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2013 Doug Claybourne. All Rights Reserved.
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