Love is a married man.
He is strong and lean; he's a tree.
He carries his son on his shoulders.
Love is a tunnel of laughter.
We lie together, chastely.
The bed is on fire. When I send
him away, we kiss forever.
I send him away, though my skin
is sloughing, my bones are cracking,
little fractures, one by one. When
he leaves, the walls fall down.
I sleep in the burning wreckage.
This is part of a series I'm working on.
From the Poetry Thursday site:
For the next few weeks, several Poetry Thursday participants will take turns hosting the Thursday post on their blogs. This week, please visit The Polka Dot Witch where you will be able to a) leave your comment linking to your Thursday post about poetry, b) find out next week’s prompt, and c) find out who will host the next Thursday post. [It will be jillypoet.]