This Is My Mountain

A beautiful woman
lying on her side
looking, smiling
Voluptuous curves
beckon, promise

This is my mountain
Clothed in shades of
red – orange – yellow
preparing for an evening

Above her
a sky –
your sky
my sky,
where you’ve been held aloft
in my arms –
blue – grey – pink – green
in the rose-fingered dawn

The promise
of joy
to come

My love,
the smell of coffee
the taste of apple
but somehow your absence makes them
less enticing
The shared look
The guarded smile
Fingers barely touching
as drink is passed
Your smell mixed with coffee smell

I’ve known
true happiness
I’ve been broken
in agony

The promise
of this smiling woman
calling to me in the early morning
Memories of shoulders

The pianist’s hands
will touch mine again
Shoulders will brush
Lips meet
Eyes fix

What is real ?
What is there to fear ?
Loss, pain, loathing ?
All will disappear
There is nothing to fear

All I have
is yours
All I will have
is yours

We are
the red – orange – yellow
clothing of our sister mountain
blowing in the breeze
We too
prepare for an evening of winter

All I have
All I will have
Like the tasteless coffee
Bitter apple
Are of little interest now

When Greco orders me to report
I will tell him
I have done more than I could
I have failed in much
I have been broken, smashed on the anvil
of life
But like red-hot iron beaten by the blacksmith’s hammer
each blow changes
and strengthens the iron

when I report
there will be nothing left of me
In your embrace
my shell will become dust

Not yet the
empty shell
The discarded husk
I seek to become
I am
I become
The luckiest

To have loved
To love
To be loved
I am the luckiest

A beautiful woman
lying on her side
looking, smiling
Voluptuous curves
beckons, promises

It is you
I think of
my love
fingers intertwined
shoulders brushing
lips meeting
eyes fixing

I see you

Olive black eyes
deep and placid
slender and beautiful neck
smile that makes the mona lisa
blush with shame and envy
that launched a thousand ships

I am your Paris
I stand still
on the broken and devastated plain
Troy in smoking ruins
I stand still

As much as you will have me

the luckiest


6 October, 2012


About teserak1

I am Noman
Gallery | This entry was posted in Now, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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