Intercede
Seeds where
nothing grows
to plumpness
only the
passion thin
you allow
No fleshy
bursts of
moist because
they soften
the dry bead
of your heart
The veins are
filled with
wine that does
not nourish
But one good
season will
fill the baskets
and replenish
the black earth
rich in nutrient
2 comments:
this one is very stimulating for me. and it's a nice narrative. thanks.
Whoa - I'm not sure where your curiosity comes from, but this one was not written with you in mind, yet you are always with me Roberts, so maybe you're in there somewhere.
And I find this to be a somewhat sexual poem (at the beginning anyways, and it actually wasn't written explicitly as such), and I know you wouldn't rationalise it like that for yourself, so now I'm curious, where are you in here?
The wine that does not nourish? Wine nourishes YOU, I think, but not everyone.
One good season? The season just begins.
And I have a hard time thinking that you let any thing be passion thin?
And a dry heart, maybe at some level, but the love outdoes any hint of that.
Just writing now because I need too.
:)
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