P-Poetry Week 6 Hearts and Hammers

Where is that delicate line that exists between creation of an art – music, drawing, writing – and romantic love? Does it exist at all?

 

Hearts and Hammers

Set me free

Chocolate mahogany.

I long for your ivory skin,

But all you ever give me

Are these useless fragments.

You say,

“Stitch them together,

I know they fit.”

But how do I stitch together sounds

With just my fingers?

And when I leave, to journey far,

What can I take with me?

Memories, just as invisible

As your echoes

And as the black marks I have left

On this page for you

In a moment of confusion.

 

But I keep coming back to you

And your familiar, smooth-flowing

And beautiful reveries of poetry.

I’ll always respond in fantasies and cycles of reveries.

I adore your beauty

And how you are filled

With joy ever time I want

To make love.

The way you sigh and moan

Beneath my fingers is all

The spark my ardor needs

For hours.

I know your sweet notes,

And know they are always there for me,

Except those rare, stubborn stuck moments

Which take my gentle hand to giggle the key.

I let my knowing hands smooth

Your willful ways until our voices

Can fly through stars again.

You’re always willing to listen

And even when I am unable to speak

You’ll sing my tired tears to sleep.

 

Dear one, I love you so.

Even though I’m leaving you soon,

I’ll think of you often,

I love to sing with you, dear Stella,

The way our voices resonate together.

As we lean close, never quite touching

Except through haunting melodies,

We dance through the air.

My love, I know we haven’t been together long,

And all I long for is hours by your side,

But I must leave soon.

My hands will be occupied

By holding the road

And squeezing the miles through my finger tips.

Sweet one, I know after my road reveries

I will be different. I will feel new

As my hands flow over your keys

~ how could I possibly stay the same?

After all, my feet will stir air in circles

As I fly through foreign fields,

And my hands will wield tools

Made to change the shape of the earth.

But I promise you this,

My fingers will occupy themselves

Each night with writing riddles

Of thoughts of you.

And my voice will be endlessly singing

To you – sending cycles of sound back to you,

In this home we’ve made together.

 

Endlessly yours, until the end of the road,

When my cycle brings me back to embrace your resonance,

~ Your Lover

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