Honeydew
by Craig Kirchner
Out to dinner, at the pub,
in the company of friends,
family, strangers, others,
you would steal a stare—
speak of Egypt and China,
in no uncertain terms,
of social mores, decadence,
moralities old and new.
I was to celebrate you,
respect you, leave no doubt,
that I adored you.
As the four large candles flickered
their aroma of lavender,
and softened the otherwise dark room,
with an intimate soft gold aura,
your self-reliance melted.
You offered with a shy,
almost naked vulnerability,
that beyond the walls of the world,
you needed me to touch you often,
intensely, everywhere, and then
you’d be assured that we loved.
The walls of this room,
this conversation, and the space
and glow between us matured,
but you arose, your eyes caressed like
lips, as you explained,
that, a bit of honeydew
would prolong the moment,
sweeten the scent, wet any dry,
that would mingle with mine forever.
Craig Kirchner thinks of poetry
as hobo art,
loves storytelling and the aesthetics of the paper and pen. He has had two
poems nominated for the Pushcart, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of
Navels. After a writing hiatus he was recently published in Decadent
Review, Wild Violet, Last Leaves, Literary
Heist, Ariel Chart, Cape Magazine, Flora Fiction, Young Ravens, Chiron Review,
Yellow Mama, Valiant Scribe and several dozen other journals.
