Drinking Under the Moon

“To be a poet is a condition, not a profession” – Robert Graves

The Way They Do

When I love you, it is as if I am only my skeleton.

Each fleshy part of me is gone away that sheaths my bones,

And I am only a breakable mass of mineral.

 

I lay, clutched in hands that read each inch –

Stroked by them until like pumice,

They smooth out every pock marked piece.

 

When I awake, it is to a light beam of starry dust

Moving like glitter in thick liquid.

I look up to this daylight milky way,

As it moves and breathes in time with me.

 

It is in unanimous silence that we lie,

Drinking in these whitewashed walls –

And talk and talk till darkness falls…

 

When I love you, it is as if the world is put away elsewhere.

We lie in a bubble, like fairy liquid – cut away so slightly from all outside

In a thin hazy film in which we float.

 

We walk a lovers walk, the way they do

A long and aimless slope towards

A hope of endless night,

Ideally spent with you.

 

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