i won't send this one,
I want to remember it as it was. The night was thick, pungent, and full of the odour of rich orange blossoms. Whenever the summer breeze stirred and whispered against the canopies, or brushed against the slats of ochre roofs, there came through the street the sweet smell of alcohol and the lighter, more delicate perfume of seafoam. The moon was pregnant and sullen, steel wool clouds could hardly bare to block her glow, which billowed so fleetingly against our town; an eastern gust swept the beauty of an immovable force across the ever-moving foreground. I looked at you, and it all fell away... I would never gaze again so long as you were my final sight. Your hair was damp and clung to your cheeks, and the salted wetness on your lips pulled me, as if glossed by the elusive, pretty words you whispered softly. Maybe I'll trap them, like the moonglow orbs that oysters hide, and drink those words you're shy to say.
with all my love,
josie
YOU ARE READING
wildflowering
PoetryA selection of love letters, diary entries, prose, poetry and fragments of writing. "I find you where there might have once been a horizon, smudged between the esoteric press of lips and folding of hands; I find you in the immemorial gasp between b...
