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I am home ...

oh, my heart
      pray, hush its cadence
         for the sacred sake of unsated thirst
   beg its thrums be not now abounding ...

each dream comes haunting, dusted in dusk
      every sentimental pluck of its syrupy strings
         beckons you back to my yearnings, interminable
   every wistful pang is strummed by your affect on me ...

this place, dipped in the dripping mist of morning
      echoes things quite beyond my words ... of you
         'tis no forte for flowery phrase can capture it
   no poetic capacity worthy of its description ...

it pulls and mills my spirit like the ebb of the briny blue
      but to its most dark, stinging, brumal depths
         you were such a visceral part of my fibre
   from the quintessence of deep, dreaming slumber ...

to the first nascent meanderings of each wish-flavored morning
      (your sublime taste still seasoning my mouth ... and my mentalities)
         from the uncommon commonplace of teatime sun in your tresses
   to the chipped-edge porcelain puddles of the mocking moon ...

cackling at my fevered foolishness for its glint in your eyes
      or for your skin, when you'd dip your toes in pale pools of twilight
         my core breathed you like youth breathes rebellion
   and the cells of you pressed on my emotions, infused my blood ...

coursing like the fire of a drug through
      my arteries ... never - ne'er did I touch
         you but to write secret stories on your skin
   fingertips spelling out sexy words in cursive ...

or focusing the intent of my heart to a simple
      caress - a brush of your shoulder, a graze of your
         cheek, a stroke to put your hair gently behind your ear
   a pillow-deep hug - full of warmth and security ...

a gentle pat of your knee ...
      or a grasp of your hand - like heaven, fingers
         married to the spaces between mine like perfect dovetail
   this place, to some, is just that - a place ...

but it was OUR place, and it yet sighs of US
      deeply, forlornly, achingly ... the wash of the
         waves is but the whisper of your name, the
   salt-sea fresh air aromas are your perfume ...

the feel of the cool sand under each footstep
      is but a soft memory of the tender, tousled passion
         we shared, and this dark, brooding, breathy day, is
   the mist-daubed remnant of my heart ...

the melancholy that drips from my spirit to the well
      of days gone ... I shall not come here again, though I
         love it so - oh, how I adore this place and all it means
   it is my home, as YOU will always be ...

the lighted window at the end of weariness, the
      flaming hearth that kindles my marrow, the soft,
         sweet pillow that cradles my head at night ... no, I
   MUST not ever return, or it will surely claim me ...

it will swallow me as time has swallowed you, it
      will transform me into this damp, dour, graying caste
         and I'll be lost to the wind and the dark and the ache
   just as surely as you - my home - are lost ...

to me.






~ 1st Place ~  in the "Best Free Verse Poem October thru December 2017" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.

~ 2nd Place ~  in the "Broken-Hearted Poems" Poetry Contest, Broken Wings, Judge & Sponsor.
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