Thursday, December 15, 2011

Letter to Masefield

Susan Trott's novel Sightings have the readers, along with the insouciant heroine Sunny, pining for a mysterious lover cum spy in Paris named Masefield. They met in Paris and got separated when Sunny had to go home to Inverness. They met again years after.

To my Masefield,

You are here. I can't remember why I waited for you. After all, you have been here long before I found you. 
Long before you kissed me mad.
Was it just a shadow I knew? A shadow in the labyrynth that was Paris?

You have followed and assumed that I would feel.

When I discovered that I loved you, it was entirely out of nowhere, out of the hinges of a need, a breath held for so long that I need to catch.
But what does it matter how I loved you, it is there and you are here.

If I ask you now, would the air around not turn blue or anything out of hue? Would you present me with an answer, an answer please designed to wake me where I sleep.

If I ask you why, would you lie to keep me here?
Or would you challenge my own being or love ... or understanding.

What does it matter if you love me.
It is there and you are here.

Your Sunny

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Songs of a Dream Remembered

Photo by arlene von zipper
I remember how the flaxen sun worshipped your skin
Sungod in midsummer madness
Your paintbrush eyelash brushing on my chin
Quiet, under the strain of your quickdry tears.

Dawn breaking
Like snow on windowsill
Halfwaked leaves eavesdropping on the walls
I watched your lashes quibbling
Full of tender sleep
I dropped a soft kiss on your lid
Gingerly I crept
Behind the mantle of my hair, I peeped
Steps falling hushed kittenpaws
Goldflecked sun streams on the stairs, whispering,
Dreams trailing baby's breath on air.

On the third year
I just let my hair grow long
Like the rain is long and sweet
Dewdrops wet our lips
Intoxicated with each other's breath
Our lips wed
Pursuing wild and tender aches.

The sky blew cold ditties on our skin
Wrapping our thighs with confusion.