Monday, May 09, 2011

Through the slow hours



It is mid-afternoon and we sail a sofa
through the slow hours, after mowing,
or washing the car, walking dogs we don’t
have, fixing leaky hardware or tending
to some minor caulking around grouted

tile we’ve yet to finish extending along
the rest of a counter or foyer. Thus we lie,
side by side, me behind you in faded denim
shorts with shredded white wisps of fray
brushing against the skin of your legs where
my hand smoothes settled acres of girlflesh
become woman-summered gardens, supple
and ripe for tending with care and adoration.


We doze in a napping wheel spun with
brief dreams fit for such laze and letting
go, the pleats of our paisley breath falling
in measure to a kitchen clock around the
corner we are not even aware of. Songbirds
bring us back and we do not move, remaining
instead this way knowing such afternoons
may never come again and there is yet time
before this one slips into what evening brings.

Joseph Gallo
May 9, 2011



Blogger Jan parried...

You have captured the essence of love and what it is like to just "be" with the person you love and how time melts; minutes blend into hours, days into nights, years into decades. Lovely ~

May 10, 2011 9:31 AM  
Blogger Joseph Gallo parried...

Remembrance, imagination, & hope conspire together to make s little bit of magic. Thanks, Jan. ;-)

May 11, 2011 8:38 AM  
Blogger Cathie parried...

Magic, yes. You are the sorcerer, calling love in.

May 14, 2011 12:48 AM  
Blogger Joseph Gallo parried...

But love prefers to play outside, under late streetlamps, chasing hoops between passing cars, smoking in alleys by the bums, seemingly immune to wands & pixie dust.

But I like the thought, Cathie.

May 14, 2011 9:04 AM  

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