This is a cycle of love poems I am working on. This is the fist one in the cycle. Hope you enjoy!
The sand gets caught up in his hair every once in a while, like white marble castles drifting on seas of dark evergreen
he brushes it off. Always it is night there, a perennial obsidian coffin, buried with incense. The light cannot escape it.
it’s curve is
forever a hushed daughter’s keepsake, kept in place and twisted horribly all at once. Hush, she whispers, fingers
each strand like a horse’s mane. He is a quiet warrior, like a sleeper who is not talking,
through the silent grass. A bridge echoes through the dark waterfall of the daughter’s mind;
evenly, vertebrae by vertebrae, slowly cracking, each piece of it’s driftwood crashing into the open mouth of the river:
but she doesn’t know it yet.
Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry