Because that is love,
when my beaten, wrinkled skin is still caressed by you,
and your gray smoky hair is my loving obsession.
When we are lovers, may we dance under the full harvest moon,
and pick pumpkins
at old Wellwood Orchards.
Growing Beautifully Old
More by Isi Gibson
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Ode to The Elephant
Under the green jungle crown
you silently go,
Shimmers of light pattering
down onto your soft, worn skin.
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Ocean - Collage poem - Pieces from 1984 (George Orwell)
The deep, unconscious current guards
my hopeless human figure from
the continuous plume of silence
echoing below my floating forearms.
my pure body is tossed in a
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Texts
The paragraphs you send me are long,
certain,
and completely free;
they take flight around my mind like gentle songbirds,
Comments
The kind of love we're all desperately seeking, sometimes our entire lives---! I appreciate the metaphor here of time finally ripening as if it is harvest season: the golden years have arrived for this pair, years of joy to savor together. It's very touching.
Thank you!
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