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Unfolding herself before him,
her body is a living map.
The countries, strangely foreign,
are etched in hues of light and shade
across plains, smooth and desert-flat.
Fingertips begin, unbidden,
to trace unknown journeys along
trails of hillside and luscious glade,
down deep, slanting valleys that quake
at his touch. Trapped in her byways,
drawn by wildernesses
luring him to false destinations
of absurd and reckless beauty,
he realises that he is lost:
too late, of course, far too late.
She folds herself into herself,
devouring with his hope the notion
that any journey has an end.
Flora Gillingham
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Click here to write your comments about this poem (Journeys by Flora Gillingham)
Alison Cassidy (9/28/2008 6:25:00 PM)
Eroticism crafted with taste (and sight and smell, of course) . A magical poem that leaves the reader with the impression that she, the writer, is lovingly on top. love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ |
Onelia A (8/30/2008 4:50:00 PM)
By every next read there come new accents. I like the elegancy of the last stanza - it reminds me a pretty snake rolled and sleepy, though dangerous: 'She folds herself into herself, / devouring with his hope the notion / that any journey has an end.'...br, one |
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