Close at Hand

Where you touched me–silk,
the milk of our desire,
yoked yearning from the ilk:
heart–they called it fire–
the infinity of which might host
ashen fractions of the passion, sired
by a touch, a look unseen by most
unbound by sea or land–
the knowing when I sleep
you breathe beside this silent hand,
and I am no stranger, too far, too deep.


16 thoughts on “Close at Hand

  1. This is so good, Chris. I love the rapid flow. The opening is my favorite:

    “Where you touched me–silk,
    the milk of our desire”

  2. Sighing like a lovers’ breeze over this one, Chris. Last line goes straight to the heart–being a stranger is so wearying–no place for it where this poem goes.

  3. Love this write Chris, the opening lines with the embedded rhyme carries so beautifully when read aloud. Wonderful flow to this piece, hope you are well my friend, all my best to you! ❤ ~ Rose

  4. This is the kind of feel I like for rhyming poetry. The rhythm is not dictated by the rhyme and it makes the read more like wet bamboo- strong and flexible with a relaxed natural beauty- and less like a blacksmith’s hammering in the middle of the night.
    Nice one.

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