A song of love on the wind (final draft)

[LeoVictorBriones (poetremains)]

My arms in detail,
my fingers in clutch,
my veins in passage,

the musk colored sunset on the wind,
glaciers that dive from summits to the ocean floors,
root with clay in the warm earth,
the bones of earth in wine,

all are pressed flowers
which I will not place in books nor conceal in abstractions
but lay across the obvious shelves of my heart.

All I have craved,
all I have tasted,
all I have welcomed,

all I commit,

as you lie,
bare as sand
across my chest and thighs.



(ver 2)

The honey between your thighs,
the sweet lavender in the dimple of your back,
to the burning thunder of my lips to your posterior.

and,

my arms in detail,
my fingers in clutch,
my veins in passage.

I commit to you.

To listen to the amber sunset on the wind,
to hear rocks dive from summits to the ocean floors,
to root with clay in the warm earth
are the pressed flowers of memories
I will not place in books nor conceal in abstractions
but lay bare across the obvious shelves of my heart
piled in careful notes and varied memories.

the marrow of life in moments,
the bones of earth in wine,
the taste of birth and death in pate,

all I have tasted,
all I have craved,
all I have welcomed,

but none,
none are you lying
bare as sand
across my chest and thigh.


(ver 1)

My arms in detail,
my fingers in clutch,
my veins in passage.

They are what I commit
to honey between your thighs,
sweet lavender on the low indent of your back,
to the the burning thunder of my lips to your posterior.

To listen to the amber sunset on the wind,
to hear rocks dive from summits to the ocean floors,
to root with clay in the warm earth
are the pressed flowers of memories
I will not place in books nor conceal in abstractions
but lay bare across the obvious shelves of my heart⎯
piled in careful notes and varied memories.

The glaze of apricots on pecans,
the flatness of cream atop boysenberries,
the bones of earth in wine,
the taste of life and death in pate,

all I have tasted,
all I have lusted for,
all are welcome,

but none,
none are you lying
bare as sand
across my chest and thigh.

[mfwilkie]

Leo, I think your opening needs to be more lyrical and more defining.

When I move to the second stanza, the 'I commit' brings me back to the first stanza's arms, veins and fingers being committed to the honey between the objetc's thighs and it's not
a particularly inviting image.



Try a simpler, more direct imagery. The melodrama is killing your intent here.

Here's a thought for an opening if the intent of the draft is to reveal the depth of the Voice's feelings..

I hold details in my arms
and what my fingers touch
raises the tempo in my veins.

I'd like to see what you do withthis.

Maggie

[determinedtofail]

Interesting how in the beginning you went from arms, fingers, to veins. I tried writing a poem about a womens body, but the poem was rooted too much in the imagery, and terminology from art class.

I like what Maggie advised. The sensation of touch having it's own eyes or judgment of space. Good use of the imagery raise temp veins to guide the reader close to the experience.

Low indent of the back. I think that is the part of the lower back that has dimples in it, the sacral triangle. Maybe "Dimples on the low indent of your back." I think this way the visual can appeal to the preference of both sexes and more personality types.

I think your imagery of the pressed flowers is an absolute gem that can shine even brighter! I would advise that you work with that flower image more. Maybe you can tie it into the physical experience of the two people pressed together and at the same time also allude to something else, like trying to hold on to a position or a memory.

Your ending is very strong. Thanks for posting this.

[Marion Poirier]

Leo, I too, think that Maggie is spot on.
On first and second read, I thought it was me -
thinking you were saying too much - leaving nothing
to the imagination - but my thoughts ran along
the same way as M's. The beginning can be modified,
and the explicit reference
between the thighs makes it in poor taste.

You don't have to give everything away.
There is no mystery - no magic.

I think too much detail
detracts from what could be a spectacular
poem - but seems to me - you have to curb your
propensity for overwriting.

My opinion to take or leave as you wish.

Marion

[Marion Poirier]

Better Leo, you've toned it down a lot - could go
a bit further to make this a spiritual experience -
still a bit too erotic for my sensibilities. What is
unsaid can speak more eloquently than too much.
However, an almost great poem. Your poetry
is eloquent and passionate - but needs more
subtlety, grace and refinement.

M

[determinedtofail]

Victor a few images from your poem have been sticking in my mind. The Jasmin, the pressed Flowers, and the small of the back.

I respect the passion, and openness expressed in your poetry very much so. Don't know if the following works for you or not, but here is a rough suggestion I had to incorporate those passionate images with:

"My hands search for the dimples on your back
it touches like Jasmin
like pressed flowers"

--Shawn

[mfwilkie]

Leo,

What does my veins in passage mean?

[determinedtofail]

Victor,

Here are some suggestions. Not sure if they will work for you, but nonetheless here they are.


To listen to the amber sunset on the wind,
to

To listen to the amber sunset on your skin,


are the pressed flowers of memories
to

Are these pressed flowers of memories?


If you switch the stanza order, the images of arms helps lead to to the hips and posterior, and the thunder can help the transition into the sound of amber sunset.


my arms in detail,
my fingers in clutch,
my veins in passage.

The honey between your thighs,
the sweet lavender in the dimple of your back,
to the burning thunder of my lips to your posterior.

I commit to you.

To listen to the amber sunset on the wind, (your skin )
to hear rocks dive from summits to the ocean floors,
to root with clay in the warm earth
are the pressed flowers of memories
I will not place in books nor conceal in abstractions
but lay bare across the obvious shelves of my heart
piled in careful notes and varied memories.

the marrow of life in moments,
the bones of earth in wine,
the taste of birth and death in pate,

all I have tasted,
all I have craved,
all I have welcomed,

but none,
none are you lying
bare as sand
across my chest and thigh.



----Austin

[Marion Poirier]

Excellent revision, Leo,
One tiny suggestion in ending lines -
a tad left to the imagination
adds mystery.

all I commit (no comma) line break suffices

as you lie -
the color of sand (or use a color/shade to modify sand)
across my chest and thighs.
Marion