Sunday, July 30, 2006


See emeralds dance in her mind,
the lewd way they wink in the light,

how her hands travel, so far -
all the way -
over the planes of his back,
grasp the lift and curve of muscle
with pin-tipped fingers.

How her tongue is cocked to fire.
Trails of flame
like witch-burnings -

a tryst of skin.

See her ruby teeth,
how they glitter in the night kitchen
as she turns to go.

She's left a lamb cutlet,
new potatoes in fresh chopped mint,
and the other half of her cab Merlot.

The baby dozes,
rocked by her red breath lullaby.

The dream has broken
into an a cappella over cracked tongue
and her heart-
a broken bell.


Blogger J.B. Rowell said...

wow - this is amazing. I'll need to come back and read it again . . .

4:13 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

thanks Julia

8:47 PM  
Blogger Kora said...

Beautiful.. I love

and her heart-
a broken bell..

Absolutely beautiful.

11:02 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

cheers Kora, thanks.

11:20 PM  
Blogger Plus Ultra said...

Wow, thats really really poetry spelt with a sing-song "p", can almost sing it and really lovely to commit to memory and there are really few poems you want to commit to memory..........

5:49 AM  
Blogger burning moon said...

wow, thanks plus ultra! what a lovely thing to say.
There are indeed very few I read that I'd want to memorize.

1:57 PM  

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