main-f0fe47502643bfa3cd01e1536fd2ba8514666262Nine told me
love was chasing and pinching
love was not, little boys grabbing fleshy parts
love was sharing the last Xmas chocolate
and wiping the stains with the corner of your cardigan
Sixteen told me
love was chasing and pinching
love was not, young men grabbing fleshy parts
love was found beneath eider down
finding out the workings of bodies yet grown
and the tender string of hearts unaware of how
deep their timber could sound
Twenty five told me
love was chasing and pinching
love was not, shorn-haired women in bars, grabbing fleshy parts
love was discovered in the shape of a woman’s mouth
how it resembled the moon covered over with darkness
culminating in a smile that stole
the very backbone of words
Forty told me
love was chasing and pinching
love was not, middle-aged men in Starbucks, grabbing fleshy parts
love was molded from piano keys played in harmony
as day slowed and sky swept with wonder
overhead us while walking hand in hand
ruby leaves crunching underfoot
Sixty told me
love is remembering being chased and pinched
love is not, the disregard of all the years before
but a remembrance of each step taken
love is the emptiness of a house without you, watching for return
love is the gentle dent of your body as it lies
ever long against me
always a little empty without
our full heart

0 Replies to “Our full heart”

  1. I think to say that the following lines are “beautiful” would be a sheer understatement and a downplaying of the incredible language and imagery here:
    “love was discovered in the shape of a woman’s mouth
    how it resembled the moon covered over with darkness
    culminating in a smile that stole
    the very backbone of words”
    The entire piece flowed well, lines curved into each other as they were meant to. Seamless, wondrous poetry.

  2. I am sixty something … your words not far off the mark! It’s been a while since I’ve read you, I only returned with a new blog a few months ago, deleting my old one was a stupid thing to do … that’s the thing about sixty something you still make mistakes but more readily admit them when you do! Your words as beautiful and thought provoking as ever, no mistaking that. Eric.

  3. Another beauty of a poem, Candice. You described every age right. (And I’d say 70 is about the same as the 60 in your poem – so far. πŸ˜‰ )
    Wonderful writing – it’s your giftedness that I admire. πŸ’•

  4. SMiLes.. For Surely
    Innate in Oxytocin
    Way Love
    Is A
    Furry
    Warm
    Love of Baby Rabbit
    Snuggle Close uP iN A
    Phi Spiral Curl of Mother
    Fox who Understands No
    Different Tree oF LoVE
    Than Love all Natural
    Comfort in a Garden
    of Eden Born of Cozy Mammalian Nurturing
    Breast With Yawns of Natural Love More..
    Sadly
    Most
    Sadly
    Some Never
    Did and Some
    Never Do Build
    UpOn A Foundation of
    Warm And Fuzzy Fox and Rabbit Love..
    NoW Other than that Two and a Half Years
    Away from 60.. as ‘that’ other Love Comes and Goes..
    It’s Truly Amazing but no Matter Age.. Love Can And Will Grow Younger
    AWay
    From
    Fear
    aLWays
    AWays From Fear..
    Nice to See You.. Candice thefeatheredsleep..:)

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