love it when people introduce poetry to me. The Unquarried Blue of Those Depths Is All But Blinding BY ASHLEY ANNA MCHUGH for John Fogleman There are some things we just don’t talk about— Not even in the morning, when we’re waking, When your calloused fingers tentatively walk The slope of my waist: How love’s a rust-worn boat, Abandoned at the dock—and who could doubt Waves lick their teeth, eyeing its hull? We’re taking Our wreckage as a promise, so we don’t talk. We wet the tired oars, tide drawing us out. We understand there’s nothing to be said. Both of us know the dangers of this sea, Warned by the tide-worn driftwood of our pasts—. But we’ve already strayed from the harbor. We thread A slow wake though the water—then silently, We start to row, and will for as long as this lasts.
Posted on: Wed, 29 Jan 2014 05:07:30 +0000
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