"It is only in appearance that time is a river. It is rather a vast landscape and it is the eye of the beholder that moves." -Thornton Wilder, “God how we get our fingers in each other's clay." - Ray Bradbury, her tundra lies shunned, In Between Days, Instinct two owl, mapped, shapes shifting, soft touch, the loving landscape
I feel the last two lines of this one set the whole piece ablaze.
There’s a link to more through her name.
Well played Geraldine. nods
Breaking her fast – Geraldine Clarkson
after Rosemary Tonks
My spirit broke her fast on you,
rubbed morsels to numb lips
that day we met; sipped at glances
shared at sundown, that first day.
When we stumbled into private smiles,
she nibbled them like haws
till juice dribbled on my chin.
When you called me by a pet-name
of my own, she savoured its aroma,
tongued its vowels; made it me.
Your accidental touch made her crest mountains
to cool her craving; shun tundra
where you were not.
And when our shapes pressed one against the other—
bonding in a public place—
not even the milk moon, streaming,
could slake the cracking Africa of her desire.
You only kissed me once —and that
in fond farewell—but my spirit
grapples manfully with the memory, still;
takes it bloody to a corner, pulps
its gristle in her teeth; finds the quick.