Someone else cut off my head
In a golden field.
Now I am re-created
By her fingers. This
Moulding is more delicate
Than a first kiss,
More deliberate than her own
Rising up
And lying down.
Even at my weakest, I am
Finer than anything
In this legendary garden.
Yet I am nothing till
She runs her fingers through me
And shapes me with her skill.
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8 comments:
Thank you for posting this.
I would love to see the rest of this poem. It's a favourite of mine and I can't find my book of his poetry atm.
Bread by Brendan Kennelly
Someone else cut off my head
In a golden field.
Now I am re-created
By her fingers. This
Moulding is more delicate
Then a first kiss,
More deliberate then her own
Rising up
And lying down,
I am fine
As anything in
This legendary garden
Yet I am nothing till
She runs her fingers through me
And shapes me with her skill.
The form that I shall bear
Grows white and round.
It seems I comfort her
Even as she slits my face
And stabs my chest.
Her feeling for perfection is
Absolute.
So I am glad to go through fire
And come out
Shaped like her dream.
In my way
I am all that can happen to men.
I came to life at her finger-ends.
I will go back into her again.
Kenert
Utmarn Runsewe 👨🏿🦰
uh oh swag time
English class
Sex?
sexo
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