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David Barnes Page 2 Sculptures of life
Along the dry track
of scrub and bushland
Occasionally,
stooping over seas of variant wildflowers
Offhand, I pick up a
single parched brittle leaf etched with fine burnished lines, symmetrical veins' and I remember the enigmatic old woman, her withered flesh our paths, implying more than meets my eyes.
© debarnes February 2008 -15th
source of life
your soft white skin
is moist underneath my hands
as I cup your breasts
suckle as a child suckles newborn
for you are ripe, overflowing
with the source of being.
surely as a fig ripens
on the tree that bears fruit
our love brings forth the fruit
of hunger
as a child suckles
feeds its desire in need
so we are entwined
the flow of satin skins
slip in the warmth of the desert
night
as we dip into each other
Mulga trees dig
to the source of life
take root with the rising
of the new dawn
there branches caress sun
draws in the very air,
of awakening
we ride on through
the night
we rise spreading weary limbs
at daybreak, seeking
the very source of the Mulga tree.
© debarnes revised February 2008 –
15th
©
Copyright, David Barnes. |