Black Poetry : The Rite and Passage Of Indian Summer

alyce

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Jan 29, 2001
2,922
82
mid-atlantic
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Counselor
their jazz was flowing....

&

the wine glasses
were on the table
half full...two
empty bottles
of merlot,
in the waste basket
by the bathroom
door....

the chocolates on
the nightstand
were getting hard
....like the wax
that dripped from
the scented candles
thru the night...

the fragrance of indian summer
lingered in the morning

and the twin bouquets
of cut flowers
they had given to each
other three nights
ago....
were still pretty in their
tall vases
on opposite ends of the
dresser....
...their water had begun
to evaporate
only yesterday...

mingling with the delicate
scents of
roses, chrysanthemums
and sunflowers
was the familiar musk of
his body ....and hers

the air in their room was warm
and thick with
two days
and three nights
of pure passion...

he had loved her well
over and over again...
since Sunday...

& she had never been
better...

and while he lay sleeping

she knelt down beside
him and placed her
hand just inches above
his chest
....right over his heart
close enough to feel it rise
and slightly touch her palm
when he inhaled

this was her secret ritual
every time they met...
a fervent rite she
performed after their
marathons of loving

and when his body rose
she felt the rhythm of his life
beating

years ago
he had made a promise

"as long as I'm
breathing, I am loving you"

his long life is what
she prays for, always

even when indian summer
is thru....

Alyce (c) 2001
 
My sista

you know I read you and let your layers settle on me like a blanket. There are so many textures here...the deeper things that the naked eye cannot see. And the obvious beauty of this story.

I don't try to dig too deeply. Cause what lies on the surface of you, is heavy enough.

Indian Summer. Very, Very nice touch. I love it!

thank you

J
 

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