leaves of grass.

July 25, 2011

Come, said her soul,
but scattered the butterflies,
with a wave of her hand.
The book lay open,
vulnerable, on her thighs,
the same way she splayed herself,
upon leaves of grass,
as she lay with head in his lap.
I know you are restless,
and make others so,
he said,
but why have you done that?
his words warm as Earth’s soil,
surrounded by trees, winds,
and their tumultuous waves.
They shouldn’t be here, she said,
trying to behave.
He reached to close the book,
but she caught him,
her hand on his own,
upon her weakening thigh,
touching leaves of grass.
Ever with pleas’d smile,
may I keep on?  he asked,
seeing a smile form from under,
the trees’ shade across her face.
So he continued reading,
ever and ever yet the verses owning;
the words gathering butterflies,
from long forgotten gardens,
as he left their book open.
Come, said her soul,
and she allowed it to be.

And your very flesh shall be a great poem. – Walt Whitman



8 Responses to “leaves of grass.”

  1. abichica said

    I said it before and i will say it again, your picture is scary as ish, but your poems are real beautiful.. 🙂

  2. Absolutely beautiful writing. The scene is so vivid and real. I can feel and see it all as I read. Excellent!

say something to me.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: