I like my body in the mornings
when the light has not yet stolen the room,
and when you, in darkness, turn your length
toward my length and bend your body
to match the curve of my spine.
I like the warmth our bodies find,
I like your legs bowed into mine,
your feet like a tangle of roots about my feet.
I like my neck when it’s touched by your breath,
and I like my waist when your hand rests there.
And my belly, I like how soft it is, like sweet dough rising.
So tender, this drowsy, dreamy, yielding state
when we are more flesh than name, more limb than thought,
more breath than what we know.
And the darkness holds us quietly,
your body, my body, oh how we linger,
indulgent, our boundaries blurred,
while all around us, even inside us,
the world with its edges and certainties
begins to dawn.
I wasn’t expecting the route you took after your opening line. Although, actually, it wasn’t that different a route. I was thinking you liked your body, first thing, before the day took hold. Here, it seems you’re kinda continuing yesterday’s poem, or at least its closing lines. (“I like my body when it’s with your body, when they’re both still drowsy, and it’s not clear whose body is whom’s. 1+1=1.)
A lush, dreamy(!) poem.
A warmly human poem, just right for the experience. But did you actually write “it’s not clear whose body is whom’s”? I can’t find the poem, so maybe you deep-6’d it. At least that line! I hope so!
Ha!
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Friday, February 27, 2015 at 6:05 PM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “Before We Say a Word”
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I like how effortlessly the dawn line seems to fit at the end, and the edges and certainties. But 11-14 are my favorites for the imagery there, so evocative.