my wife

My wife and I lay together
In silence of autumn’s
afternoon. Barely touching
at the tips of our fingers.
Barely breathing, lest we
suck some molecule of moment
from the air.

My wife and I played chess
and listened to Gorecki’s
Third Symphony.
The music filled the room
with silver hues of sadness
as she pocketed the knight and the queen
eclipsed the king.

My wife plays tennis
at the courts by the river.
My wife buys organic strawberries
at the markets
In Santana.
My wife, the humble nightingale, the siren, the knife,
the icy night –
Let’s hurry to our bed, my wife
to purge our flesh of stain…

My wife and I lay naked
in the ecstasy of thoughts that
spoil if they are spoken.
Which wither in the vapors
or echo, empty
In the ether. That have no meaning,
given final voice.

My wife, my wife!!
My cowboy’s abandoned mare.
My shadow of smoke, my most charming prayer
my goddess, my fiction, my most passionate
fiction,
My wife. My wife, my wife.

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This entry was published on 10/13/2008 at 5:22 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

5 thoughts on “my wife

  1. Definitely one of you best – a wonderful blend of devotion, loss, tenderness and erotic fever.

  2. largemargeuk on said:

    An amazing poem. So sensual and sad.

  3. littlewhitepagan on said:

    Easily one of your best – the notes in this are so blue and graceful.

  4. Maybe your finest moment.

  5. antsjuices on said:

    Stunning. Exquisite poetry.

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