War Poet.ca - A CFAP Project by Suzanne Steele

rowan tree (the mountain ash)

your lips are cedar waxwings
stripping her bare, bare
as the Rowan tree, the mountain ash,
bared in autumn bit by bit,
each berry, the knots of her spine,
a perfect, firey globe,
her ribs, the branches
of that beautiful, beautiful tree
you love, admire so much,
your mouth on hers sharp,
tart, clean, as fresh cut lemons.
remember it soldier, beloved,
remember the mountain ash
that grows steady, does not fail you
as you fall asleep soundly, peacefully
next to her body strong, straight grooved
into yours, the mountain ash alive,
it grows outside her bedroom door.

About This Page

The page you're reading contains a single diary entry entitled rowan tree (the mountain ash). It was posted here on February 27, 2012.


Complete diary archive