Monday Poem: Skin like Honey


Skin like Honey

All my desires are for the dreams of flesh
all made of warm, alive and breathing skin.
I think of silver and I think of gold
I think of moments when and think of moments
where time becomes a place to move inside
and where a day is all we have to hold
so now we use it slowly, carefully
our time is like  sweet honey, thick and gold
its slowness falling all around our lives.

My days all lie in piles around me now
I think of how it once was, when we had
such honey days and she had such soft skin
it seemed as though she was the summer, warm
unclouded with her eyes of understanding
she saw though to the centre, holding it
there, still and serene in the open palm
of her one hand. But now, I do not know
this person standing in my life and dreaming
my dreams and sorting through these memories
of long ago. It is not me or now.

Possessed, I’m haunted as I walk alone,
this ghost will move my hand to reach towards
the memory of her. If I could break
and twist away from this procession, back
away from times where anything beyond
is either haunting dream or memory,

each with less weight than any hand can hold,
as insubstantial now as every lie
she whispered. None of this can alter, change
the past or anything and none of this
will ever matter as we leave no words

or shadows carved into these rocks. We leave
behind us nothing of those times and soon
it will be gone and none of those lost times
remain as memories we shared between
us, like the steps in a familiar dance
as we went round and then around again.

Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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