Saturday by Zandile Carol

Zandile Carol | Jul 14th, 2022 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

Beneath the crown, of ageing oak
You’ll find the scent, of my darling there
My darling true, whose love is true
Sweet Sabata, who strings my heart
°
His head would lean, upon its trunk
Soft gentle earth would clasp his feet
His nimble fingers, caressing the earth
Coaxing and sifting, massaging earth
°
My body trembles, in longing rage
For the grab of his hands, for the shape of his feet
For their assuring hold, and careful steps
To be etched and felt, all upon my back
°
So walk on me, I’ll let you be
Or gallop still, run on my thighs
Nowhere to hide, your feet won’t slip
But will find a home, hemmed in my heart
So take me whole, and hold me firm
Still in your hands, just as the soil
°
Beneath the crown, of ageing oak
You’ll find the scent, of my darling there
My sweet Sabata, my darling true
Tossing stones, and pebbles too
Humming sweet, to falling leaves
Upon his head, his neck and hands
Caress his skin, in teasing falls
°
On me a game, in me we play
Of vivid stares, and silent hums
Undressing the petals, of my red red rose
My love for him, on his fingers, laid
And parts of me, willingly his
My trembling body, so gently held
To shake no more, between his arms
°
Beneath the crown, of ageing oak
You’ll find the scent, of my darling there
My sweet Sabata, my darling true
Sweet Sabata, who strings my heart.

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