Stumblewood, a poem

I Stumble, Onward

Aghast, this deeply in the dark,

who could find that stream of clarity

that light, once again?

I am the muttering Rockefeller

of this room,

but what good is that when

all my words fly the wind?

A mean game of chess, yes,

I can do that-

but when your belly is soft

and proffered, I am mute.

Sparrow, swallow in the eaves,

your gangs come to me,

twittering my necessary alms...

But, this part is hidden-

my lover and his desires,

Does it go something like this?

My ropes of red hair fall on your lips.

I writhe, a pale ghost, enlivened by desire?

I coil lovingly down your neck, your

chest, your penis? Now I speak another

language altogether, one of rythym and lips

tainted with learned aconitum,

do not move- I would find that discordant,

the only moment I do not wish

you to move...

I whip my hair on your sweating skin,

skyclad, we are set free to disolve,

devolve into primative heirarches-

you the rutting bull,

I the fecund hind...

Ummm, your velvet skin cries for

an answer, and I can only reply,


But gore another!

Comments 4 comments

Routledge profile image

Routledge 4 years ago

Good poem.

Mhatter99 profile image

Mhatter99 4 years ago from San Francisco

Interesting... Developing obscurity of some obsession?

Hyphenbird profile image

Hyphenbird 4 years ago from America-Broken But Still Beautiful

As much as it is delicious and tantalizing the resulting turmoil is not worth the passion one dedicated to the moment. This made me gulp Lily and then laugh. Good job.

lilyfly profile image

lilyfly 4 years ago from Wasilla, Alaska Author

Routledge, thank you, Mad, I didn't feel it was obscure, I tried to put it right out there. I even used the word penis! haha! Hy, you are brave to comment, and yes, the teapot boils, but does it sing anymore? Rarely! And thanks for your support! Love yaz, lily

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