Paramour

love poem

are you somehow 

clutched in mountain’s grasp

or beneath pale skies 

spanning feather-white over 

this valleyed meadow?

I am hearing a hawk cry and 

watching summer fade the crests of blue hills

when I watch you, bearing

that overture of your skin, honest to 

just itself, asking nothing�"

this will be no meandering 

I have ever known.

rushing itself, it pits in the 

natural and pauses there

giving sermon of breathing and

pulsing, lyric on its own

until I give you these lovely tears of adoration 

pushing at the base of my neck,

until I have to slow the hastening of my anticipation,

I will love you with veiled fear,

with a dead artist’s imagining and 

a small treasure of hazardous musings;

I have unwillingly re-fashioned your structure so many

times that dreams haunt 

with a viscous sweetness too rich to stow -

all around us, late grass tires and 

garments brown.

A large upper hand I don’t recognize 

bends the wide river unusually 

beside me 

as your good figure explores motion and 

places itself in front of the unholy sun,

having been willfully resurrected 

from the outer rims of my own envisioning and 

the frontier of our ages, ages.

Author's Note

feedback please. I am trying to improve my writing.