Early

This morn, she feels different,
the cotton breathes and is
fluid as she moves,
floorboards are polished
and a gleam of light
makes it look like
the kaleidoscopes
she had as a child.

She shrugs and slips,
minding the pitfalls
but this is early morning and
outside a river snakes,
the tempest has subsided
and the gentle chug
of warm water moving
through and filtering
on beans she ground.

She swings open doors,
wrapping a shawl closer,
while the breeze molds
and eases her from the
slumbers of the night.
She cups her hands
around an aromatic brew,
her breath an echo in the air,
watching, she rubs her hand
along the chipped veneer
of brittle winter on the branch.

Lost in thought and in the beauty
of silver rivers and dizzy ducks,
birds that chuckle and a lone leaf
a refuge from the autumn days
caught, then pinned sodden
in the corners of the terrace,
she doesn't hear the whisper,
the muted whistle on his lips,
he slips a hand inside her shrug
and suddenly her curves
are welded as she turns

He takes the smooth blend
and motions, silence is not a word
it is an action borne out of dawn,
together they will slide
the gentle click of doors closing,
it is too early yet, just time
to take love back to bed.




Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 544 times
Written on 2013-02-15 at 19:49

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shells
Beautiful, the gentle optimism of all these images bring such life to your words. I do believe this is one of your best Elle, bravo.
2013-02-16


countryfog
Simply stunning . . . so many beautiful and pitch-perfect images that I wouldn't know where to begin though some will certainly stay with me - "the chipped veneer / of brittle winter on the branch," light on the polished floor like a kaleidoscope. You have a sensibility and the means to express it that I greatly admire.
2013-02-16