SHE STOLE UPON ME (a prose poem)

She stole upon me as the curved light of the evening

mounted the ladder of the stars. Thigh-white and small

as re-pressed flowers her breasts upon my arms became a

silent impulse and the impetus that strove between

the crushed grass and the risen stem, tight like the angle

of a kestrel’s wing; and unaccentuated by the glitter

of the sun, her night was an unfolding and reprieve of

warmth hastened no less by the peculiar reticence of

paler stars, hung like a cross from the white throat

of cloud awaiting the kaleidoscopic brightness of

confetti, and the marriage bells.

What do you think?

2 points

Leave a Reply