I am a creature of steam
of blurred mirrors
and water-beaded glass
a solitary songbird
nesting in white clouds
that bloom from tile and skin
water keeps time
against my shoulders
soft applause
of falling silver
and I
alone with my voice
with the bright ache
of being alive inside a body
most days
I sing to no one
to longing
to secret rooms
where desire wanders barefoot
through the dark
steam unthreads my edges
and I drift
half hymn
half daydream
letting water unravel
its silver threads
from heaven to earth
Then
the phone rings
and your voice arrives
like a match struck
inside a cathedral of mist
the room grows smaller
the distance thinner
carrying that startled pause
the one that blooms
when expectation
becomes real
because you knew
what song I had been singing
and still
I answered
the water keeps falling
wires become waterlines
static becomes breath
and somewhere
between my breath
and your voice
between the song
and the silence
the private ritual
I thought belonged to solitude
becomes a duet
and I forget the difference
between singing for myself
and singing for you.
This is bloody brilliant.
Wish I had your ability to write so beautifully.
Well done Curly.
The heart is a liminal space 🌼
Brilliant and sensual.
Beautifully penned, CG. Another excellent write with amazing wordplay my friend. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.
Damian
Wow! What a steamy, sensual poem..!!
Thanks for sharing!
Chère G.,
Hope this finds you well?!
I’ve tried giving two thumbs to express my gratitude.
But no, Fia is very strict.
I love this write to bits.
Almost French by nature. In France you can get away with most anything, as long as you mind your language.
A steaming write.
And the end is the cherry on the cake of course.
For yourself or someone else, it’s the singing that matters!
Keep them coming, please…
Warm regards, Gus