TROUT   [5]

Thomas Mitchell
 
Deep cries the Ocean

  i) Why should I wish to rest with you, old one?
Your face scowled like a tuatara cracking
jaw set like boulders at the cliff end,
eyes falling down on me at your foot
holding the collar of my shirt
pressing deeper into the soft sand.

ii) How could I sleep with you, cold one?
Your icy limbs extending into mine,
drawing blood from my heart, sapping
my head spinning in the foolishness of love
mad for your smiling face, a sunlit background.

iii) Where is your desire, once so bold?
wrestling with me each quarter
giving none, our battle remains
filling the edges of the bed, outflung
arms and legs, flesh from two skins.

iv) When do you ever relent, hardened rock?
Your eyes wooded to my pleas,
paths cut through your scalp combed just so
revellers may find a way between us,
enthusiasm passing with the season.

v) What must I do, my once beloved
to contain my fires and satisfy yours?
Will your love settle on me again,
leaving sky and inward reflection,
rocks and waves swimming together.

 
  © 1998 

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