Ravensong Poetry And Writing Blog by Donovan Baldwin

By Donovan Baldwin
Her bosom heaving from the climb,
Up the hill of winds, or,
From the crushing embrace
Of her lover emerging from
The mist of the woods into
The light upon the heath,
To take her in his arms
Parting the reeds of the pool
To drink the waters of love,
Until all is silent and
They rest in joined slumber.

-----

i write poetry
caresses meant for your heart
touching more than flesh

-----

my love a blanket
comforting not smothering
you wrap yourself in

-----

hands do more than feel
they trace runes upon our skin
rituals of lust

-----

My mind is restless,
And cannot settle.
It drags me from novel,
To poetry,
Philosophy and essay,
Back again to
Medieval plots,
The love affairs of kings,
And murders by monks.
My mind,
Restless,
In search of
Its own words.

-----

I remember the shore,
The sea, listening to
The high wind which
Blows in from
Somewhere,
With a story it
Might be trying to tell me...
Or, am I making up
A fable of my own,
From a hundred books,
Innumerable imaginings
Woven
From sun, and sand, and sea,
And the unceasing voices
I hear in the wind?

-----

Copyright March 2020 by Donovan Baldwin

Labels: bosom, donovan baldwin, love, lust, poems, poetry, skin, words