Your whole body has a fullness or a gentleness destined for me.
When I move my hand up I find in each place a dove that was seeking me, as if they had, love, made you of clay for my own potter's hands.
Your knees, your breasts, your waist are missing parts of me like the hollow of a thirsty earth from which they broke off a form, and together we are complete like a single river, like a single grain of sand.
Every picture tells a story and your pictures tell you are a beautiful soul. I believe in power of words, too. Hope to read your poem one day.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for these kind words, means a lot!
DeleteYour whole body has
ReplyDeletea fullness or a gentleness destined for me.
When I move my hand up
I find in each place a dove
that was seeking me, as
if they had, love, made you of clay
for my own potter's hands.
Your knees, your breasts,
your waist
are missing parts of me like the hollow
of a thirsty earth
from which they broke off
a form,
and together
we are complete like a single river,
like a single grain of sand.
Neruda, you still walking here?
DeleteThank you Colin!
Don't thank me. Thank Pablo. The Potter. From The Captain's Verses, some of his most passionate poetry.
ReplyDelete