Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Her skin is warmest in the morning bed
when, calm, her blood-life radiates her veins
and respiration’s steady metronome
demarks the measured moments of her sleep.
Her feet are warm beneath the blankets: paused
and weightless—not like evening’s aching cold—
and nothing’s cold when she has come to peace,
regardless of the dreams whose wrinkles crease
her warmth asleep beside me. And I hold
her close because I love her; and I’ve caused
my self to love her 'cause she loves me deeply,
welcomes me to build my hearth and home
beside her, warms me as her love remains
my friend when morning’s waked her sleepy head.

a really beautiful poetic tribute to someone special....I did stumble a bit on line 11.....perhaps a typo......but overall, a romantic ode to the simple pleasures we sometimes take for granted....

saw wrote:...I did stumble a bit on line 11.....perhaps a typo....

Thanks for the kind and helpful feedback, saw...it wasn't a typo, just a poor choice of grammar... I appreciate your words and the words you help bring forward. Maybe this makes more sense.... Thanks and peace!

You have drunk deep of the dead poets but pay them back well with this excellent poem.


Her feet are warm beneath the blankets: paused
and weightless—not like evening’s aching cold—
and nothing’s cold when she has come to peace,
regardless of the dreams whose wrinkles crease
her warmth asleep beside me.
( Gems words.)

wonderful ode
brilliant
if a minstrel were to walk by, i'd beg him/her to sing it

thanks to you all...hardest to write about an actual person I love...but a start...and

judih wrote:if a minstrel were to walk by, i'd beg him/her to sing it

...pushing against the heterosexist norm, thanks for noticing that the him-or-her minstrels were being considered.