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In bed my feet touching my leg

 

 

In bed my feet touching your leg

 

 

Counting one two three four the space

between the blank of thunder and sight

of lightning illuminating the blinds I know

I measure love in the proximity we sleep

together, warm on warm. The last one,

I couldn't place myself all those three A.M.

hours, humming nights of acid rain, bones

on the window tapping on the wind. Bone

to bone I'm wrapped inside you solid.

Water to water there's a lake waiting

to be wash over this black bed, two

bodies to be separated. What we have is

distance– right now we don't have that.

 

 

 James Croal Jackson

  


James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet. He has poems published in Perhappened, Kingdoms in the Wild, Capsule Stories, Ariel Chart, Rattle, and others. He edits The Mantle Poetry (themantlepoetry.com) from Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)


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2 Comments

  1. reminds me of yesteryear of art and film that make romantic overtures without resorting to blatant language or crude nudity. high class stuff in my opinion.

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