Splatters of Poetry

Proximity, a response

Yes, the pain is almost indistinguishable
(undigestable)
from the fruit of the vine
both so red and blood-like
when we come to quench our thirst.

Yes, we are both sore and sick
from endless nights at sea
and the sirens' whisper, never growing faint
to bash our skulls
on the rocks of desire.

Yes, my face is weathered
and yours is too, my darling
sun and rain and days and nights on the water
have carved Knowledge into our flesh,

and we are not the same.

Yes, you were right when you said we have
come undone
and our hearts are soaking wet
unravelling thread
But take my hand, dearest

we are being rewoven
(can't you feel it through the rain?)
and when your heart and mine have been fully knit
we shall become the cloak that drapes around
other shoulders

and we shall rise warm and glorious
to comfort the weary at sea.

posted by Erin @ 5:46 AM