The sheets can get crumpled:
beware.
Hoards,
nature abhors a vacuum, right?
the whole space
is crammed
with a crushing bone on bone
marrow might
trip the silence maybe
only body
remedy, we cure by sleeping
in.
A body
is always filled,
so
why not fill
it
with the
sweet of
meticulous ebbing
tides?
wind, through the window
any distraction should be
foreseen
and hasting-ly prevented
still,
she must resume
life even after
tasting with the
sweet of
meticulous ebbing
tides
grown to fill her space
screaming when no one sees.
She is grown
the might and weight to hold the ready seed
and
only for so
long, we know beware:
the sheets crumple,
the mess of hair is her hair
the creak of her voice is
her voice,
the sound in her voice
her head speaks in her head
she can’t think to bear the burden
she can’t burden the burden to bear what had been
held
had she not seen
out the window, then
ecstasy
abhorring a vacuum in the
listless light,
and oh, the gentle morning
an encompassed jewel,
glinting with a thousand eyes.
Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry
I do not own this photograph
Golden Star Poetry 