by Cyrus Cassells
Is this blood-red joy
Of breathing beside you
And never divining
Your next beguiling voilà:
For instance, the nubile lemon
You culled in Sóller,
Brand new husband,
Shines, sun-blond and solid,
On the sill,
Pure as a murex shell
Or a nomad’s wish—
No wind whistles down
From the timeless sierra,
So after our solstice vows,
You press your apt citrus’s
Soothing, gently cooling rind
First to my lips,
Then my slightly sunburned nape—
Finally setting it to rest
On my shirtless torso;
With this honeymoon abracadabra
As nimble cue,
Let me linger and praise
The hermitage and gleaming groves
Above the cobbled village
Where your harlequin mother was born,
The gospel of bougainvillea
At your boyhood gate—the apotheosis,
Bridegroom, balm-giver,
Bell-clear dreamer,
Of your own full blossoming
And transfixing flair,
Of the soul’s endless, luxuriant
Coming and becoming…
Poem copyright 2021 by Cyrus Cassells. All rights reserved.
See two more poems from Cyrus Cassells debuted on The Fight & The Fiddle: “Maples Anticipating Their Autumn Colors,” and “The Absence of the Witch Does Not Invalidate the Spell”
Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt