Johnkul Poetry (2)

An EvenIng of French

Rivulets of conversation
Drip like honey from your smile
Splashing on my cheeses and French croutons
Washed down with vintage wine
Return to you with bright blue eyes
Reflected in your chocolate browns
Dancing with schoolgirl delight.
Our talk meanders along seamless miles,
Unexplored and ancient paths,
Some by chance, some carefully chosen
A Lewis and Clark expedition
To discover new territories
Rummaging through Paleolithic ruins
Of stale relationships
With each rise and fall of hope
Presenting a bright horizon
Desperate for congruity
Yet comfortable in an unspoken commonality
What did she say?
What has he meant?
He is so old...
She is so young...
There is the plank we walk
To the delight of alligators
And pirates of our destiny
We move step by step
Blindfolded with senses keen
Expectant that this last plunge
Will deliver us into that eternal hope
Enveloping us like an azure Caribbean sea
In that we drown,
Laughing silently
Sealed with a final interrogatory,
A temple kiss.

johnkul

FAIR LADY
Fair lady of heart’s summer drought
Who slakes my thirst like Spring rain
Soft and delicate her fabric,
Her covering lines every gentle contour— Her skin catching evening’s sun, turning hues Prism-like into a palette of pastels—
Few sights have drawn such yearning...
Few moments given such pull—
To simply reach and touch such rich and velvet skin—
Just to touch and nothing more.
Such gentle face and laughing lines,
Parenthesized by dimples,
Calls forth my own joyful laugh in response.
If I had her for one starry night, all to myself—
What a wonder to see those tiny sequins,
Canopied light, sprinkle light shafts
Down on her golden hair—
It would only take one such breathless moment to assure me I would lack nothing by spending the rest of my time
Just so--a captive of that very time capsule.
You are the stuff from which dreams are made---
It is you...yes, it is you...it is you.
If she would turn to me and look
For one brief moment, I think I would melt,
And if not I would remain some clear substance
For her to grab and hold.
At once she can see clear through me—
Would that it be for who I want to be
And not who I am...

johnkul