Prelude

XXXI Days of Poetry - Day the First

PRELUDE

Allow the low, lushness of my voice, 
to lull you, little one. Liquid haze 
upon my gaze seeps slowly through the room, 
like the spitting spatter of hot rocks, 
pelted in the sauna, steam to melt a dream 
upon the trauma of your inertia, the sluggish 
torpor of your languid laze, content to lie 
and listen, half asleep, half rough-catch 
in the back of your throat, and a creeping 
flush rising on your face, neck, and chest.
Soon you will be sweating, the toxins of 
indifference, worry, stress, exhaustion.
Let my coarse-honeyed growl draw them out
and more, until you are ready to be filled 
to the tingling tips of your skin, 
the brimming full-lipped sweetness within.
Smile, little one. The lights go down, 
and the Darkness is your friend.

Read more Poetry, including previous year's "31 Days"


[Painting: "The Letter" by Jack Vettriano]

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