by Ryan Nardi
There you are,
the scent in my head,
the ascent of my vision,
the entwining of limbs,
the soft, passive caress,
your back beneath a gossamer drape.
Asleep, you breath in my nape,
purr-chirp my name
in a tongue of divine complexity;
tattoo that name on my face,
and hold me, your Israel.
Pray with unconscious grace.
They wrote of You and I
in the sand,
when the sun was still God.
Author's Note: A passage from an old book brought on the recollection of several instances of wordless perfection with my mate. Above is my crude interpretation of those feelings.
Posted on 03/22/2008
Copyright © 2023 Ryan Nardi
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 03/23/08 at 12:26 AM|
if this is crude, then something polished would probably melt someone's brain. it is absolutely wonderful!
|Posted by Anita Mac on 03/25/08 at 12:40 AM|
Okay, so I see my bud Morgs has already been here, and while my response would have come out more of a reprimand, my thoughts are the same... He really is the more eloquent one, anyway. This is stunning.
|Posted by Matthew Zangen on 03/26/08 at 04:46 PM|
There's an undeniable love in this piece; one that has married the divine and the intimate. There is a sensuality that is so surely felt and yet bewildering and wonderous to the reader that it is easy to agree with your choice of imagery. "An old book," eh? I'm glad we stumbled into each other, Ryan. This is awesome.