Tag Archives: graveyard

four-in-the-morning

four-in-the-morning

more!
you said

and so I gave it to you:

words
fearlessly sumptuous, irreverent, naked,

you:

closing your eyes to savor,
opening them to watch them fall from my mouth
for you,

and after each
a pause

more!

drinking them down like shots
going straight to your head.

we couldn’t see the moon from the car
so ventured out
into the late night dim
of the lush graveyard

and we still couldn’t find her,
but you found my mouth,
and I found the sweet smoothness
of the skin beneath your shirt

and we found four-in-the-morningchiming from the heart of town
far below us
as you laid inside me
shivering in the dew-ing grass
alive! alive!
in the old cemetery

heralding the deep cornflower blue of morning
as the hushed stars retreated
back behind the layers
of approaching dawn.

you said then,
out loud,
that you were meant to find me
but I didn’t say another word —

didn’t have to

the birds sang:
                       good morning!
                       good morning!
                       good morning to you!