In
bed my feet touching your leg
Counting
one two three four the space
between
the blank of thunder and sight
of
lightning illuminating the blinds I know
I
measure love in the proximity we sleep
together,
warm on warm. The last one,
I
couldn't place myself all those three A.M.
hours,
humming nights of acid rain, bones
on
the window tapping on the wind. Bone
to
bone I'm wrapped inside you solid.
Water
to water there's a lake waiting
to
be wash over this black bed, two
bodies
to be separated. What we have is
distance–
right now we don't have that.
James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet. He
has poems published in Perhappened, Kingdoms in the Wild,
Capsule Stories, Ariel Chart, Rattle, and others. He edits The
Mantle Poetry (themantlepoetry.com) from Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)
reminds me of yesteryear of art and film that make romantic overtures without resorting to blatant language or crude nudity. high class stuff in my opinion.
ReplyDeleteTerrific work.
ReplyDelete