PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The hot air is too thick

and still,
to be of any use, to lungs

Weeping with humidity

it sinks, groggy and weak into the lungs
like the warm goo
at the bottom of a peach cobbler pie

The evening sky is already pregnant

with

an orange August moon,
as my love

is quietly asleep, atop the cotton sheets

Her restless fever, was

burned away

by thunder, an hour ago

Sticky and sweet, the sheets cling
to the inner hollow
of her thigh

And I am torn

between the beautiful orange moon
hung

over the veranda,
and the beautiful way she curls
her thighs, in moonlight

Perhaps, there is room enough
in my heart,
To love them as equals

The magnitude of beauty they make

as a pair,
is incomparable

It is as foolish a pursuit - to express

with words

as it would be, using a yeoman’s
yardstick
to measure the universe

The scale of the task

is beyond

all imagination...

The rising and falling

of her chest
as little puffs of air, billow and spill
from her sleepy lips

as a few wild stands of hair
float

above her cheek

bone,

with every exhalation

as lilac-scented air
billows through the curtains
on the warm

orange glow, of moonlight

with wild melted streaks

of mascara,
swirled like oil paintings

on the pillowcase

Who am I, to contend with such things?

But I am aware, in this moment
of a much deeper truth... 

That there is artist - behind the scenes

Indeed; A master

Who, with the simple stroke
of a brush

Is capable, of putting us all
to shame.

~/~