She woke in sleek lines and snapping tendons,
eyes parting on lavender fields – this sudden
awakening was ally to the bundle of lines
there, at the corner of her mouth.
Her smile lit the edges of dark shadows
and chased with the light of our sin
any chance of absolution with this sunrise.
I buried the sunlight in the
heat that gathered at her chest and
ravaged her cheeks, until red flags
possessed her and the purity of her skin
was wiped clean by kissing lips
and sympathetic fingers…
I tripped along the image of a Robin,
that she was named for,
red-breasted as
the heat of emotion and languid
tongue rolling along her ethereal length
left her – skin glistening and shining
bright as a cherry,
and I, parting her hair and twisting each lock
like twine around my finger,
I dug a wry glimpse of the divine from under
the crinoline of her lashes where
the clear depths of her regret
were washed free with each faltering
grasp at the edge of the precipice.
She woke in sleek lines and snapping tendons,
an abrupt fall from slumber to present,
from plummeting to bursting.
© Laura A. Lord, 2016
Written in response to this week’s prompt: Name It. Were you able to come up with a love poem this week? Did you find inspiration in a name? Let’s see them!
The Reverie 