Fires
Last but not least, here’s our (optional) prompt for the day. Begin by reading e e cummings’ poem [somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond]. This is a pretty classic love poem, so well-known that it has spawned at least one silly meme. Today’s prompt challenges you to also write a love poem, one that names at least one flower, contains one parenthetical statement, and in which at least some lines break in unusual places.
Not even the fires of last June
Could have foretold the destruction
that would come, when you arrived
Late in evening, while I rested
Your ability to see me, and to see
nothing I had ever seen in myself
Is like a fire that takes and gives
Ripping apart the fabric of my identity
Your touch alights my senses
(Yours in the only touch that brings
livelienss, where others had left cold
rash of frost bite, and recoiling patterns)
The sound of your rustling dress
in my arms, is like the low crackle
of cozy campfire, welcoming but requiring
of close supervision.
Your movements are like tounges of flame
Fluid and everchanging (I love to watch
how you walk with long legs) We dance together
and it is like a raindance. Pray for release