Honeyed Tea and George

We talked, there sat at night. You rocked
with tea in hand, clever mind dissecting
my words, his eyes and hair, curled wet.
I grazed over your form.

And what is our purpose, you asked,
shirt off your shoulder, showing clavicle
showing shadow, probing thoughts stick in hand,
your feet probing shag carpet, searching.

_______
An attempt at a bit of loose iambic.

A Woman.

Trace them

she showed her ink into inky night.

Etch them with your fingers and
I might tell you what they mean
in the pitch black
following us in the rolling rain.
If you're lucky.
You might kiss my lips, you know.

The world is iron clenched shut

I will tell young children someday from a rocking chair
but my body will be a soft cushion for the pain we know

--stroke my head, it's a porcupine in love--

but this eccentric mother will reply to you
in the dark making love to you,
tumbling over her people:

it just is.
And oh for more than that.