Eila Mahima Jaipaul

 

Amid dust and salt


could I but touch you
as a thing in itself
separate from everything
ever touched or seen
separate
from everything you’ve held or felt
I’d take you to Elysium
where, in beds of mandolins, under violet-orange sky
your living would finally be where it should

 

 in time
wooden boats
some draped in rosemary
coriander, lavender
some bare
would bring all my pieces
and there, amid dust and salt
in long red shadows
I’d let you reconstruct me
from bark and herb
until with tears of delicate compassion
I’ll resurrect
dancing naked deep inside you

 

 

Tuesday


I wasn't born here
but I've lived here all my life

with you
it sounds right
certain

I want to say
that what we do
is like reading
me feeding you words
while you're lying on your back
naming you with them
in the dark

yes
Love, it is more reading
feeling, than writing
this is what we make possible

 

 

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Sentinel Poetry (Online) #46

The International Journal of Poetry & Graphics...since 2002                  

ISSN 1479-425X

Editor: Amatoritsero Ede

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