I open a mango fruit
Meticulously, voluptuously
Its smell takes my memory
On its usual weird route.
Each slice as it slowly melts
Feels like a drop from your being
Sweet poison impairing my seeing
As in my blood it deeply gets.
And I cannot stop
I continue to eat
Until you live in me complete
Or dead poisoned I drop.
Reborn
I wish to lie down on the ground,
Nobody to sense my presence around.
The soil to swallow my last bit of worry,
I don’t have to say anymore I’m sorry.
And then to stand up from my muddy bath
Purified, knowing my real path.
The world will find me everywhere around
As a pure breeze and a calming sound.
For information about Brian Henry's writing workshops and creative writing courses, see here.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.