Go down deep,
They said.
So I did,
To the very marrow,
Delving through warmth
And slushish blood,
Syrup-sticky drying
On my hands.
Or slippery silk when running
Through my fingers,
Like the hair of the one
I love.
Go deeper,
They said,
So I did,
Within organs ripe and ready,
Plump with the turn of decay.
I am taken by the beauty of her,
The whole inside.
It has me,
She has me.
I shine,
Like the hair of the one
I love.
February 2020
COMMENTARY:
This poem came to me after a meditation session. I see, hear, and feel all sorts of odd things while meditating. On this occasion, I got the sensation of running my fingers through long hair and a sense of love and loss. A word then popped into my head - marrow. I suppose I could have written about a great big green thing on a vine, but that's just not me.
Kat.