Tuesday, August 25, 2009

to this

under braced waves frozen mid-fold
at the mouth of the canal

your suit sullied with grass
and mud and sap and blood

my dress torn provocatively
at the shoulder and hip

the ice from the waves burns
our bare feet and our breath

manifests in weak clouds of mist
after each passionate kiss

decided upon by a look
of mutual exhaustion

from the dragon slaughter
and failed escape attempts

1 comment:

Gerry Boyd said...

nice and deeply spare. bravo, methinks.