An ordinary rocking chair
with comfy armrests on each side
finish faded here and there
with seat that's solid, firm and wide.

Way back in her school girl years
she'd rock in it while music played
smiling face un marked by tears,
she'd rock and sing while brown hair swayed.

When marriage came it followed her
to her first home and new husband
and after work that old rocker
kept contentment close to hand.

So this is how it ends
Seven years and this is it
nothing but a faint whisper that trickles down those perfect lips.
Your body as still as that dark night that has been longing so for your touch
The touch I once craved
I once needed, I once yearned for the touch I starved for.
The touch of kind gentle soul, one who took pity on the lost, the dammed, the hopeless and the rejects.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz
Or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off
I love you as certain dark things to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul

I love you as the plant that never blooms
But carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
Thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
Risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body

I close my eyes to see that magnificent curve of woman running from hip through waist.
Companion in flesh to cello
carved by old knowing hands
of master craftsman
who works alone
in a small room,
creating immeasurable beauty.

Carving contours along which I can slowly wind.
Carved with purpose and time,
until the lean of its lines
can wail sadness in gut wrenching, murderous, murky tones.

When just a moment before she left lullaby's in my ear, breathy and sensual.