Monday, November 08, 2010

ANOTHER oldie, revisited:


Graphite slabs of storm
rumbled their way from the south.
We breathed in the cool electricity
of our love. In nervous cages,
the doves fell silent;
your dogs huddled at our bare feet.
Did I kiss you then? I think
so. Or was it only
insistent rain making love
to the roof?

You filled those afternoons,
now further from me,
and poured them into
the softness of the night.
What stars burnt through, as we
wore each other's words!
Now, I slip into someone
else's. The fit of yours
grew loose; they fell
from me at season's end.

What storms divide us
when summer sings anew?
Your gift of clouds
lifts white hands to beg
my time. I have none.
Only the rains of memory
remain with me, climbing
a sullen southern sky.
Do you wear the weather
well, this year?

Stephen Brooke ©2003

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