she is your flower child
she is your flower child
your woman-girl
an unwritten sonnet, yet every word in place
the melodia always at the back of your throat
a slip of memory
tucked forever into a corner of your soon-weathered heart
there to unfold
again and again and again.
and you will remember this vixen-child:
her flowing hair, her open flesh
the rose promise of her pink-hued nipples
the tangled flourish of her saporous cunt
you will remember:
her generous desire, her unfettered need, her transparent flame
all of this offered to you
all of this gathered for you
from the chagrined pleats
of your mothers’ ferrous skirts
of your fathers’ flannel suits.
before too long the years will shift
clumsy and dumb, they will take you with them
you don’t even know it
you shouldn’t even know it
she won’t let you know it, at least not yet
so be with her now, in this moment of this night
in this moment of this night that will last forever
because it is all that matters
because it will always matter
mount her, take her, fuck her, love her
forget yourself in her soap-scented yearning
remember yourself in her wide-open giving
save yourself in the clasp of her legs, the press of her breasts
she is your flower child
and you will remember
because she is writing herself onto your heart
avonbard
I gasped at the end of the poem: what a perfect description of the author herself, “writing herself onto our hearts!”
Tom
This must be autobiographical…the writer certainly has etched herself into my mind…
Joel
Just because it has been written some time ago, written about sometime long ago, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t read it anew.