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By Raziel Moore
Does poetry have rules?
Where is my poetry?
 

Don't Leave
by Eileen Malone © 2004



It's only a false dawn, this small startle
overturn the wheelbarrow
full of pale-purpled damp jacaranda leaves
this is now, all I've got left that is mine

on this day of raspberry drizzle
that leaks in, just lie down with me, please
naked, here in the garden
among the rosy fragrance of fallen apples
broken to reveal their cores
with their stars of seeds

between fresh worms rooting in yeasting earth
flood me, bury me in strawberry and lake water

give me your lips, kiss me in amaranth, jasmine
open your mouth with its dark spikes
like shark teeth straining
let me swim to you, surrender to the current

peel away the morning from dappled things
bejangled roots, ferny, riffled leaflight

let me embrace your naked waist
on a bed of purple leaves up from this lush pile
of the jacarandas' lavender snow
a crush, a compost mulch of now
all that is left, that is mine.



© 2004 by Eileen Malone. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

_______
Bio: Eileen Malone is an award winning poet whose poetry has been published in over 300 magazines, literary journals and anthologies in the U.S. and U.K.


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