where we merge

My hands move into silk the green

silk with you under it

 

and you (this is where I kiss you)

 

stand against the morning the new

morning with the kiss of sun under it

 

(this is where you kiss me) you will

 

turn your gaze your brown-eyed

gaze with me under it

 

you will touch my (every every) lips my

lips to hold the precious

 

memory of their prayer

against your (every every) freckle

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspired by a beautiful woman in green, and written in the style of one of her favorite poets.  

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Cascade's picture

This is GOREGOUS sensuality!

This is GOREGOUS sensuality! The way you extend it, the longing. The color. The every every thing. That thing! All of it...goregous!

Vincent's picture

Thank you, Cascade!  I

Thank you, Cascade!  I appreciate your comment.  It's so nice when a piece connects with others!

Starward's picture

Visiting this one again, it

Visiting this one again, it is just as fresh a paean to intimate love as on the first reading.  This is one of those poems that the reader knows will last for a long, long time.


Enjoy effulgent days and exquisite nights.

Starward

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allets's picture

Prepositions

Knit the poem especially different uses of "under". Nice. 
 


 

 

patriciajj's picture

Reading this is stepping into

Reading this is stepping into a miracle. The moment you framed is ecstatic, but the language, the billowing tenderness, the use of color as a vehicle into the deepest pleasure is . . . Oh God, a leap of greatness. You are a virtuoso of words and it's unnecessary to say more. 

 

Your work speaks for itself. Respect. 

Vincent's picture

Thank you, Patricia.  You're

Thank you, Patricia.  You're very kind. 

Starward's picture

I have read this poem again,

I have read this poem again, and am just "knocked over" by its nuanced beauty.  Wow!  I have recommended it to patriciajj, postpoems' most accomplished poet.


Enjoy effulgent days and exquisite nights.

Starward

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Starward's picture

This is one of the finest

This is one of the finest love poems I have ever read!, on postpoems or elsewhere.  Can you share the name of the poet alluded to in the notation to your poem?


Enjoy effulgent days and exquisite nights.

Starward

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Vincent's picture

Starward,   Thank you for the

Starward,

 

Thank you for the kind words.  That poet is ee cummings.  

Starward's picture

Thank you for the reply. 

Thank you for the reply.  When I was a freshman in high school, Estlin Cummings was the first poet I ever read.  My mother and I both adored his poem, "anyone lived in a pretty how town."  Akthough mom and I disagreed on most everything, we always agreed on the beauty of that poem.  Thanks again for your gracious reply, and your poem, let me repeat, is wonderful.


Enjoy effulgent days and exquisite nights.

Starward

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Stephen's picture

Name of the poet: Starward

You can tell by its titulating twist.

Starward's picture

I think that is not only

I think that is not only foubtful, but downright impossible.


Enjoy effulgent days and exquisite nights.

Starward

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Starward's picture

Sorry for the typo which the

Sorry for the typo which the system will not now allow me to correct. I meant "doubtful."


Enjoy effulgent days and exquisite nights.

Starward

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Stephen's picture

where we merge

Before there was any comments on this poem, I told myself the poet was Starward.  The touch of porn gave it away.

Starward's picture

And your attribution is

And your attribution is apprently wrong.  I believe the Cummings poem alluded to is "All In Green Went My Love Riding."

 

Where do you find a touch of porn, as you put it, in Vkncent's poem?  Or do you mean also to impune Estlin Cummings' poem?  Vincent's poem is very beautiful, and reminds me of some of Propertius' lines about Cynthia, especially in the second book of his Elegies.  One of the highest compliments I can offer the Poet, Vincent, is that this poem stands in a great tradition established by Propertius, among others, and carried on in the 20th century by some of Cummings' best poetry.

 

I am a little curious if you would find "a touch of porn" in Wallace Stevens' poem, "Apostrophe To Vincentine."


Enjoy effulgent days and exquisite nights.

Starward

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