Orphan Poetry or Paradise Lost: V. Dream/Moted/Motet

DREAM / MOTED / MOTET

The air is saffron with moted dust.

We sit

(on a bale of used clothing

raised and round as a dais).

Joined at the hip,

Gemini’s twins

but with legs facing out, opposite,

mirror fashion.

Left arms crossed inwards,

left hands rest

lightly on the other’s right hip;

I can feel the familiar arc of it

humming through cotton and skin,

the current of relief

turns over the silent, glacial lake within.

We are thisclose

(heads bowed, our temples almost touch).

Your face broken into cubist planes by proximity

seeing the whole would mean

dividing a fraction.

 

From the corner of the room

she’s looking at me;

Madonna Dolorosa,

cheeks as pink as Fra Angelico’s

forbidden mistress.

~ by bonniemcclellan on November 29, 2011.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: