Bad Poetry Saturday

All things are sweet smelling
and open
memories like wounds
gape in silence at
a golden present

Did you know who
I was then?
Now?
My heart a black box
(the puzzle of toymakers)
and you the one
with the soft touch
to shatter it open
bringing pain and pleasure

Untold and unfold
like petals
all the words
I have no mouth to form
All the feelings
I have no words to speak

Did you know that your touch
on me is the sun
warm on my shoulders
your words
the cooling breeze
on my skin?
(like the wine-sodden breath
of the gods)
you soothe me.

Perfection is here
everywhere around us
sight, smell, sound
               touch, taste

Perfection is here in fifty years
spent holding hands
a mat of clover
youth chasing dreams and butterflies
unashamed,  the
steady squall of swingsets and
in dappled shade
the melancholy sweetness
of the lilacs.

Perfection is here
in afternoons spent sleeping
off nights caught dizzy in
the lives of strangers
thrown back somehow lighter
into my ocean.

Did you know
my heart was a black box
now split open like pandora's
to spill bright chaos in
a honeyed nectar
over all I see and hear and feel?

Darkness doesn't live here anymore.
I do.
Shake out the dusty covers
Throw open rusted shutters
Lay a welcome mat at the door
for I am here
and here I'll be
forevermore.