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A Saffron Light To Bath In

“Don’t we touch each other just to prove we are still here? I was still here once.” — Ocean Vuong*

Amid that tangle of roots
I sense the scarred black seed
germinating word.
my earth furrowed,
readied for verse
a rich dark dirt plowed under.
soil dug, resting beneath my nails
an ink
to search in sink between
the upward turn of petals.
uncurling
/symmetry on chrysanthemum /
pungent, gold, and to be read
in measure and term as sanctity
in prayer
ㅤ ㅤas reminisce,
this ear lain against
familiar
/ a sultry flesh
ㅤㅤ ㅤ–the clime of skins in friction.

To time when your heart beat rapidly
with mine
a heat to hastened breath that fell
an organdie skim
across our tremble.
I remain
pale creature
/wraith to past
ㅤ ㅤ with need of sun
/falling grace of saffron light
to bath in.

So tender / so small
a winged voice
aubade in melodic call
upon it,
air wafting sweet once more.
beneath the weep of Spanish moss
to watch you there
(as I’ve watched you there before.
pensive /cooled /awash with shade
posed in old fuss of iron garden seat)
brush, from out your eyes
stray wisp of wheat-straw hair
sudden come in breeze
having placed it there.
solace
ㅤ ㅤ this heart in spark
/ has dwelt on dream within their sky before,
those iris
–an azure of Thoreau’s bluebirds.

May this skin blush
ㅤㅤ ㅤ alive again
unfurl . . . a covering of lichen
velvet green,
aroma of evening primrose.

touched ㅤ ㅤtouching,
stretched lean and longing

pushedpulsed to warmed
emanate wanting glow
to your saffron sun
. . . in set
across my form.

©jef littlejohn 2019
*Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
*Anne Sexton, Her Kind

Poet/Storyteller ~A Conflict of Words in Tussle With a Pen for a Life of Rhyme. Poetry for The Lit Up, The Junction, Resistance Poetry

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