Under a polished sky
Above the funky, tidal sea
Mixing with lake water
In a froth
Through a fog
Following me here.
We were the couple.
A beautiful, magenta bonnet.
As I recall, the locks were closed, filling up
With a stew of green milieu.
And there was a bridge
A small, metal catwalk to cross and meet you under all that glorious sun
Where I am reticent to possess you.
Who am I to lay claim to this elegant, tall, cream-skinned
Archetype, which through the eyes, on sight, doth trigger the sublime?
I see the happiness in your eyes
It ensnares me, and I feel like a bee trapped in clover
Covered with sweet pollen, nectar and hope.
We are holding hands.
And I think you are saying something about fate.
And chemicals. And the animals within us – perfect, clear-eyed tigers
In lust–enshrouded in particles,
And forged in the hearts of stars.
In fact, you say these
Are the very ingredients
Which creates the musk
And the peasouper, and the madness of love
Only to tear it apart
And reassemble it, once again.
The fog lifts.
And that charm, or sass, or whatever the hell it was
Is now that bee.
A reminder of our perfect day.
This poem and more found here: HERE in “A Cartographer,” by Antonio J. Hopson.