The Lover

Those are your two hard arms
that gather me in tides ...
obsidian sea,
I pile words inside
the dark boats of
my hands arrayed
in shadows. Beneath
the forbidden span
of your back and hips
I rise, and breathe, and chart
a course that sails
beyond all maps and spheres, and winter in the warmth
of salt and kiss
and ancient knots
that loose by sword alone. And you, beloved, become
a deep broad bowl of sea and light that never fills,
but spills its piecemeal
treasures for the sands. Return me to the shore,
horizon, by morning.

Rosemary Koch

If you have any comments on this poem, Rosemary Koch would be pleased to hear from you.