I breathe.

I’ve strayed so far from myself, I had forgotten things. Of all the pleasures I have started to rediscover, poetry is the one closest to my skin.

Indian Summer – Eileen Carney Hulme

Like a deep blue wave
of passion
you shore into the room
where I sit waiting quietly,
open-booked.

We have moved through days,
loss, pain
to hold this moment,
this picture postcard seascape
of gentle harbouring.

You say
‘I knew you were here
I could smell you’
and effortlessly I sway
to seal my fate.

You taste of ocean,
avenues of grassy dunes,
like a magician
you pluck a tiny pebble
from my hair-

Ancient survivor, sun-kissed
on this summer afternoon,
unconditionally
I step out of my dress
into your dream.

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2 thoughts on “I breathe.

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