This poem was first published on Isele Magazine. The version on my site has since been updated.
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A poem on pleasure, this is a piece I wrote to describe core feelings and experiences that bring me joy. You know, if this was all life was made up of, it’d be just okay. But, capitalism.
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She stays longer in between the pages of old books
She stretches her hands into pouring rain
She sought and has known
What it tastes like to feed a soul
‘Tis—
A pale dusk complete with poetry
And silvery music
The first burst of squeezed oranges
In the pockets of her cheeks
The sea, the rain, the love,
The splayed
Flower petals on long green fields
‘Tis—
When sun kills winter
And earth unwraps its body
When love surrounds her
In warmly arms and neck embraces
In ‘You crossed my mind’ letters
And ‘Dinner on the table’ gestures
It is—
Groves with shadowy air
Oceans that hug her bare
Swirling milk kissing tea
A dazed woozy sky
On a backyard swing
It is—
Novembers spent on verandas
Wind-chime breeze from the upstairs louvre
Flutter-flies when they gather
And lather her belly with butter
It is—
Cinnamon in the air from the maple syrup jar
Easy June days
Spent on cushion sofas
Pleasure is—
A meal
And on, her soul grows
