Obsessive Hands

abreast of nightshade tipping the moon
hands of iron cupped my desire coaxing me,
into the shadow-lands of my obsession

the shades moved
as your fingers found their mirror,
and iridescent trails of dark-light
kaleidoscope across my skin

I have visions of your hands
and their movements,
I feel a rush of want
to pull in their need

obsessed
I watch each wave
within every gesture

I draw them closer
until your fingers
cradle me
in shadows of night
and within the palms
of your hands

all that remains
is the jay feathers
and maple leaves
drifting onto my heart

About This Poem

Style/Type: Free verse

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Beyond the Black Stump..Australia, AUS

Favorite Poets: Pablo Neruda

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Comments

Very darkly sensual,Jayne. I

Very darkly sensual,Jayne. I enjoy reading this as I do all of your poetry. I have a question though. You use black and its numerous overtones as a strong theme or device in your poetry. What does this allagory symbolize to you?
Thanks my wise and lovely friend,

Joe

Dear Joe

mostly I write from the heart, with a lot of my poetry there is another message below the surface, I have of late been dark in the telling I often write of hope and love and light and all that entails

I am so glad you liked this one, its been a long time in the writing,

thanks for the visit and thanks for the title suggestion on my other poem its already changed

love JC xxx

wow...

I am bowled over. Such a superior write...."abreast of nightshade tipping the moon"

Thanks very much

I appreciate your time and thoughts on this

sincerely Jayne-Chloe

abreast of nightshade tipping

abreast of nightshade tipping the moon
into the shadow-lands
shades moved
as fingers found their mirror,
and iridescent trails of dark-light
cross skin

watch each wave
within each gesture
draw fingers closer
to cradle me
jay feathers
and maple leaves
drift onto my shoulder

I've been reading your poems without commenting, love a lot of your phraseology but think you need to be more ruthless. Leave room for the readers' imagination to flourish.