Still Life Musing (Poem)

Let's talk about our todays,

about the day dream,

turns out,

that is not merely musing.

That pulled these bodies from the frigid water of a dark Lake Michigan,

to clothe then again in robes of warmth,

a textile spun by our own fingers,

a deepest devotion.

And the sun slid into shadow,

but we were not aware,

with sleep obfuscating in the corner,

but unwilling to come to the bedside.

Because no one slept while the dark wolves were running.

Until, until, they no longer remembered they were wolves,

and running themselves down.

Because I understand now,

we're not created like the trees.

Those finite roots that somewhere in darkness end.

We continue,

like a song passed down,

a new melody in the story of salvage,

new lyrics rewritten of old and feeling things,

where we dance hand in hand,

and the passing days are brightest blue.

And when we kiss there are always pomegranate seeds falling from our lips,

to feed the garden,

a rich soil we plant together,

with careful hands,

to cradle the seedling sweet.

And a golden light falls through glass and casts the daydream in an amber hue, under the deep heavy of the drowsy afternoon sun.

And you can tell me the secret,

now,

how all this,

love too,

will make of us a joy.

Like these arms and hands,

these lips,

these centers of our bodies,

boasting a light,

an embrace,

like singing hearts,

this simple prayer,

purred in sheets and sweet sweat,

in fingers and limbs entwined,

in words exhaled like a melody,

in hearts woven together,

in pleasure,

in laughter,

as we lay,

spent.

And I tell myself,

please,

don't ever get used to this.

Our whispered spell,

a whole world.

For I always wish it to be this astonishing.

bvk, 2021.