ManicDDaily

Field

Pressing myself against your bared back
feels like the idea
of lying down in a golden field
only there is no stalk
poking my arm–

well, that is not completely true–

except that my skin is not incipient
with crawl, with twitch, some
itch, and the craving
to (not exactly) scratch it–

maybe
forget that too–

but certainly there’s no filigree of fern or even hair
along the horn of your nape, spine,
the ridges of ribs that like me
reach round you,
the crests of shoulders
my nose climbs–

For it’s only the idea
of a golden field,
this warmth where I lay
me down, or at least
the idea of me,
this expanse where we both
become quite other–

not true again–

for your skin
always holds gold
when I look closely–
you, my
mister glister–
you, where I lay
me
down,
you, who loves that me–
we,
glowing–

***************************

I’m back with this draftish poem for Hannah’s prompt on nature’s wonders on With Real Toads.  The pic is an older one of a much wetter field than I imagine for this poem!