I feel the forest in you when we touch, I see its deep green shadows living in your eyes.
Your skin smells like pine needles and fallen leaves, and when you sweat, you leave the sweet smell of sap behind.
I feel the forest in you, secret and wild, it’s there in your deep-rooted silence, skittish and holding all of your secrets deep inside of your chest.
There is a wild tang on your lips, the smell of wet earth on the palms of your bark-rough hands.
You stare at me, slowly stripping away your layers of formality, of illusions, until you stand naked in the cool air, green grass tickling at your feet. And then you turn and walk slowly home, alone.
Alone into this place where I will never be able to follow you.
Alone, with your heart stripped bare, your secrets carried away with the wind and picked up by birds.
The trees rustle welcome, the leaves hardly make a sound underneath your feet, and every day there is a golden Fall leaf sitting on my pillow.
2 comments:
I've been waiting until I am a little more coherent to comment on this particular post, but that doesn't seem to be anytime in the forseeable futre.
So:
I like this. A lot.
Incoherent commenst are always welcome. They're like the runts of the litter--and you know me too well to think I would turn away a sad, motley, one-eared dog.
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