Poem#24 You

The last light of day

illuminates your hand,

long fingers, short nails.

Hands that spell out

that you are a man,

other to me, my own hand is

lost in yours and yet

fits as it should.


Shadow is on your face,

but the gleam is in your

eyes, the windows to your

truth and sincerity. I feel your smile,

your smile, your lips drip honey and

honey and jewels, tones

of tenderness, whispers

of need for my love for you.


The heavy air lazily stirs

the wind chimes, the gentle

music almost lost to us. We

talk and are silent, both are

our connection. Touch is enough,

though listening to you feeds

me, nourishes. Your leg arches

over mine, I am safe, understood,

my home is you.




Author: chrissiemorrisbrady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft. I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by madswirl.com and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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