Les plus lus ▸
Dave Bonta
In that chilly apartment
the cat found the warmest spot
on top of the refrigerator
the refrigerator would cycle off
with a violent shiver
the cat’s tail would twitch
in the silence that followed
we would lower our voices
& move closer together
the walls were thin as takeout menus
the ceiling had a stain
in the shape of Antarctica
we each had bruises
on our hips from
the other’s hipbones.
in the heart a deep
well laughter
ecstacy
sometimes lovers tap it
then kick each other out
with tales of unwashed spoons
or feet or
too-familiar flesh
but it is they
theirs forever we
in our still
presentness
your image fades behind
new furniture and talk
but I'd know you even
without words or eyes
we never give our hearts
we keep them
love their ecstatic beats their
bursting saying
I give myself to you
but asking be mine be
here always
for my use
our love intact though weary
wary used still here
is knocked on waiting
for a subtle touch
to open a still, wide place
to share
Around us people
talked on inanely;
we two fled,
seeking shadow.
Yes we did did we
Would you could you
Oh go to bed
Sleep off
Be ok in the morning
How was it my skin
Had no buttons
Was heavy
By the fountain
Overbridge
The radio by the song
When you knew
What if
I don’t come back
For a lifetime
I'll be making tea
Stretching from your nipple
to infinity,
planets orbit the heavens.
Like a planetarium
above the bed the skylight
frames the reality of you
lying naked, now
and starlight hurling
the past against walled shadows.
Searching sky's dark well
we lie together
waiting for the future.
You forgot
to remove
his hands
still stroking
your breasts
in slow circles
like gulls,
white bellies tight,
as you
so naked
tried to light
a smile.
Your back arches
like a cat in the mid-day,
sprawled out, so confident.
Your torso is wonderfully imperfect.
A loose sigh, so designed that
I think of old films:
“How can you love me?”
Outside, something in the distance howls
if only for protection.
We blew a luminous confusion of thoughts
Upon the silence of our souls,
Staining it to little, weeping tints.
Our hands pressed serpentine pain into each other
And stroked it away to twilights of relief.
Our lips shook before the tread of coming words,
But closed again, finding no need for them.
I hear him humming as he drives his car,
In mellow baritone, an ancient psalm--
Drifting down to his subtle modern brain
From his old covenanting ancestors,
Who strode bare-kneed through purple heather bloom,
Praising their God on wind-swept Highland hills.
I am his wife. Beside him vividly,
I see now not the crowded city streets,
Through which he presses, strong, aloof and calm,
Factories and shipyards where his vast machines
Whirr steadfastly, obedient to his brain--
I see now just those small and golden hours
When he is mine.
Outside the sky is light with stars;
There’s a hollow roaring from the sea.
And, alas! for the little almond flowers,
The wind is shaking the almond tree.
How little I thought, a year ago,
In that horrible cottage upon the Lee
That he and I should be sitting so
And sipping a cup of camomile tea.
Light as feathers the witches fly,
The horn of the moon is plain to see;
By a firefly under a jonquil flower
A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.
We might be fifty, we might be five,
So snug, so compact, so wise are we!
Under the kitchen-table leg
My knee is pressing against his knee.
Full moon rising on the waters of my heart,
Lakes and moon and fires,
Cloine tires,
Holding her lips apart.
Promises of slumber leaving shore to charm the moon,
Miracle made vesper-keeps,
Cloine sleeps,
And I’ll be sleeping soon.
Cloine, curled like the sleepy waters where the moon-waves start,
Radiant, resplendently she gleams,
Cloine dreams,
Lips pressed against my heart.