Lilium
xx
in her glass, brightly
she furls
and uncurls
her long limbs,
xxxxxxdusted
xxxxxxwith tiny creatures
xxxxxxof light.
xx
almost naked
in the thin glow
of this quiet table,
beside the car keys
and a flotsam of letters
with plastic windows,
she
slow
dances
a lush burlesque.
xx
peeling
her fingers
out of silken gloves.
pulling
off her iridescent stockings,
and leaving
her brilliant laundry
in puddles
of peach, and stubborn powders
at her feet.
xx
She,
shameless
with love bites
and rich with juice.
xx
while We,
thrum on,
through the crush-drizzle
of houselife,
making homely scents out of crumpets
and soup.
xx
Lilium – right beside us!
in vivid pink,
arches her back,
pouts
and
contorts.
anoints every eddy
with galaxies of bright things
and dangerous
love potions.
xx
We, anyway,
bustle
by her in toweling,
between steamed puddings, sponges and sink bubbles
as she
unclips
her silky vests,
reveals her powdered neck
and swoons
’til her throat
glows
golden
from blowing
heavy
kisses.
xx
We, anyhow,
tug at the purring fridge,
admire the well-fingered cat,
gamble on rain.
xx
all
under
her perfect eye,
our parade of toast and cake
and lovely cups of tea,
trailing heiroglyphys
up the wooden hallway.
xx
we pick at our hems
as she – right beside us!
peels off her satin
panties
and leaves them to
drip
xxxxdrip
down the wall behind her,
a fingerpaint of erotic shadows
on a sensibly neutral
expanse of Dulux.
xx
She
dances
for her cosmic lover
xxxxxxthis suburban air,
xxxxxxeach inscrutable night,
xxxxxxevery blue dawn
xxxxxxand in the halogen glow
of our television.
xx
She
dances
her divine romance.
xx
What it is
to be
Lilium,
unfurling
Lilium,
curling
caressing the space,
anointing its barren plains
with her sticky lashes
and dripping
scented honeys,
rude potions
and wax
to advertise her lust.
xx
Her sex
leaves
fatal powders.
Bright gold, burnt honey and dark blood
potions which fairies
skip through, perhaps,
to mark our house with fertile footprints,
conceiving sunbeams
and starlets
and living air.
xx
She tosses all her treasure,
her limbs even,
her graces all –
every
thing
falling
in
love
as she
disempetals,
unseen
and unabashed.
xx
reducing herself
to stumps
and spent rags
on our hall table,
she swoons
unfolding toward
the delicate crush
of her dying.
xx
In this ballet
she shreds
her satin slippers,
stains her lovely wings
and tears
all her pretty
silks
in an excellent collapse –
xx
like we might,
if we also
danced
brightly
into the
hot dream of our death.
Superb poem.
Ooh la la lilium!
Gorgeously poignant petal empathy…
Why thank you very kindly : )
Merci Michele,
Je suis heureux que vous l’aimez
(hope that’s right : )
Beaucoup! (Hope that’s right!) 🙂
Tell me who in Vilcabamba deserves to read these words? Stunning piece. Thankfully you left.
Thank you, so glad you enjoyed it. Yes, I know… Vilcabamba – what a shambles! What a tragedy for the locals!