Warm Hand (1987 – age: 17)

November 5, 1987

Warm hand
I hold your
Warm heart

Strong arm
grab my
spirit
flow
gently
to the sea
shore
we face

Whisper breeze
words
to share

Soft pale skin
sensual touch
lips to
red lips
white neck
soft pale
sensation
sweet

A shiver
breath
shared

In my heart
not
to swim
float in
the warm
sea air
life in you
warm hand

Over the next few weeks I will be spending time with my 16-17 year old self from 1987. In no particular order, these poems will be presented in the final form I found them on computer discs discovered in an attic many years ago. This will culminate in the next entry of my Into My Own, My Story as a Writer.  The first of the series can be found here:

https://sailorpoet.com/2018/05/08/into-my-own-my-story-as-a-writer-part-i-how-it-began/

https://sailorpoet.com/2018/06/14/into-my-own-my-story-as-a-writer-part-ii-why-i-wrote-1986/

A Love Song

Why should we not touch our souls
With one bow and hear
Separate strings sing one melody,
One voice to dive into
An echo
Between hills carved by Masters
Who could not have known of us?

Somehow,
They began our song
Before words stirred our tongues
Like a kiss
Born inside
A flower pushing up through dirt
To follow the path of Apollo

Its pedals,
Dripping with dew,
Swallow one ray of light.
Lips trembling,
At last,
Strong enough
For Love.  

Continue reading

another old, old story of love – inspired by p. glass

after holding hands in moonlight
after silence so profound
we start to measure love
by counting grains of sand
teaspoons of ocean waters

when love flows over us
filling every pore
like existence desperate to continue
all the way to eternity
in one moment,
how could we not make love?

what else can we do?
keep it in?
let it fester?
hide it?
shame it?

when the last teaspoon
of ocean water
rolls down your breast
when the last star completes
a constellation on your hips,
how could we not make love?

love does not need be made
in that moment,
love is all there is
one touch, one kiss,
two souls flow into one another

like rivers into the sea
embracing the earth
filling every gap
with fervent
osculation

Image: The Lovers Painting – The Lovers by Pal Szinyei Merse

Inspiration: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW0rxLP6td0

Lovers Rubato

Without words, navigate me home, heart.
Use fingers on ivory and detail the trail
Each pebble, each tree, each flower, each pedal
Some days, words seem so unnecessary
Moments, more so, when forever stays not long enough
With you, finding myself already home.

Meet Again Where the Boardwalk Begins

This moment twists in on itself
A cruel freak show contortionist
Who stares agape, tear-carved
Deltas from his made up eyes.

If only it would twist into a pretzel
With lots of salt
That we’d eat with mustard.
Two kids on a boardwalk,

Gulls stalk,
Their fingers’ taffy sticky
Stuck together,
The sweetness like glue.

“Tell me everything,”
They do not see people
Beside them, counter them,
Bump them, watch them.

The ocean inside their hearts
At once calm, at once stormed.
They find their turtle shell
And build a home inside.

This moment twists
Like a contortionist:
The boardwalk ends,
Taffy shops close,

Kids depart, apart
Long enough to make up
New ocean creatures,
Aloe their sun burns.

Image: Rehoboth Beach Boardwalk, Dolles, painting by Ray Sokolowski
Rehoboth Beach Boardwalk, Dolles, prints in 3 sizes, painting by Ray Sokolowski