The Depth of the Moss: Prose Poem
Wednesday Prose Poem: Eros in the Woods
Unseeing, but so very seen. Deprived of vision — my sensitivity to smell, sound and sensation — amplified. My cape — abandoned — along with my imagined resistance. I sense you circling me, disorienting me. Like a wolf playing with his prey. — Adrea Kore, “Wild”
I’m no longer wooden as I once was—
hair black and not green anymore, some standing still and up and — still fresh with the gloss of lake-water — you’re wet — everywhere — your jeans now fallen to the moss, covering the tiny masts of twigs — forgotten like the earth beneath the rusted leaves—
propping your curves against a narrow paper birch, ah — your ribs come up sparking under my calloused fingers — a dulcimer a lullaby a siren song to the depths of the crumbling soft ground beneath us —
I want I want I want — to not disappear but be king of this place — away from the cabin from the small birds and their noise in the cages — however lovely — I become more the woods the sounds of these steady steps towards you swallowed by leaves and roots by the rocks a stone’s throw away —
still enmeshed in your legs of ivory and tan —hot blood shining in your dark eyes — lips curled and waiting waiting waiting — I outline your pubic hair, pass my…
