Locholai Poem Of Body

The poem of the body

You, I made in silence

Your eyes hold the lights of every
baroque room ever entered

The air tries to talk and cover your figure
but your shape is uncontainable,
statuesque and curved,
rustic long-endured perfection from the
old world,
mountain roads of mud for horse carts

Supsense always the nature of your presence
The sweet kissed tension near your mouth

Your lips are stones that the Earth
as the Sea
lashes at and they turn men to boys
who wonder
who brought all these pebbles to the edge
of these far off shores

These shores laid out to gray skies at the
end of the world

Our days set out near to die

I’d fallen in hotels your soft blouse in my
hand
to bed
your brunette strands break the dour moments
of funerals and mourners

I admit I mourn now, but still I drink white
wine in the spring to honor your passing
to clasp down on my heart
to keep hold of
what May believes continues to exist

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