In the Woods of Your Words
Seduced by your wild mythology — a prose-poem
In your deep-wooded words, love, is there a distinction between finding and losing my way?
The thickening dusk of our desire — wrapping itself around my body, redolent with scents of rearing pine-trees, moistened grass and seed-dreaming loam — I’m running barefoot. Caught in the surreal, between hemispherically opposed and orbiting bodies and an eternally-elongated night, my pale gown of sleep blooms bell-like, like an indolent trumpet flower weighted downwards with heady scent; my thighs yearning out of its flounce of petals like pollen-drunk stamens, stretching for you in the dark.
Straining to catch the breath flying out of my mouth, always just a fleeting step ahead of me; breaths taut with outstretched exhalings of fingers eerie, frantic to find you… reading the fecundity of fermented air for traces of your passing.
In this liminality of tree-hushed terrain, sprung up by the force of longing between our wandering figures, I’m scent-haunted, nipping at the enigma of your shadow. Your power grows by moonlight, chiaroscuro flickers revealing your fey nature — bare-chested, cloven-footed — I’m seduced by your wild mythology. Follow the deep flute of your laughter only to find you’re —
