He Makes It Rain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


Early poem saved here

Submitted: June 01, 2018

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Submitted: June 01, 2018

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He Makes It Rain

By Alexander Guinevere Kern

Copyright, October, 1986

 

Dry Soul, not unlike a river cuddling stones,

Forcing its few threads of water through the rocks

So narrow the minnow gulp and tremble home

The river, she is jealous of her bones.

She grips selfishly her murk of toads and weed.

But always when he treads here, bronze and  blond,

I picture tomatoes pulped, fiber-lush in seed.

 He makes it rain, inside my veins is shale.

 He stamps my heart with thunder signs, his male

Tongue, an arc of dart fire, pulsing clouds.

Troubles slough away like the shedding snake.

His arms row gentle noises on my back.

Our Laughter capers soundless, then I wake.

Pillows shape his body, the boulders I

Shove up against mad moisture, climbing need.

Still – his memory makes a stain on Morning's face,

My belly vines his moist fruit, quickened seed.

I carry his son alone and pray for Rain.


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