By Christos Floratos
If I may be melodramatic for a moment,
Stars would do injustice to the number of times
His face has crossed my mind,
His heart has beat in sync with mine,
And those hands would, in my sleep, of mine would mime.
Now – that is over.
Two clasps hands, face on a pillow
With a mattress of peas or feathers,
It really doesn’t matter… matter,
What’s the matter now?
Cliché? I think more-so than any other.
I’m a sucker for the same.
But only once a week, a month, oh no.
Perhaps that’s the biggest shame.
He may be the definition of spring,
But like a sea, I know no obvious season.
I splash about, waves more rouge than a mountain.
I’ve sunk ships and many men in my wake,
But in his gleam, I only paint the sand a different shade.
And from those sandcastles resting,
Are leaves torn, red and brittle – like gold –
That adorn it as spires do reaching up and up,
Like God knows he’s a sinner, but
God has not refused his imagination.
But he triumphs over that sore,
Hollowed out groves we will rest in.
Let the restlessness of pollen claim my every pore,
Bringing new meaning to the original sin.
Bushfires are just around the corner
And I am engulfed by that heat –
Of the metal to flesh that’ll linger –
Because fire’s never neat.
But I don’t solely live for the looks, that aesthetic.
Its is the choir, or perhaps the birds who have lulled .
It is a song that makes the renaissance look pathetic.
For he is an immaculate sculptor and his chisel would not have dulled.
Love poems are for dramatists,
To woo, or to instruct how.
My purpose is not a proclamation,
But a reminder
Of a trance that brings me sedation.
One of warm hearts, puckered lips and a tight embrace.
A unique calling,
But as endless as the tide.
‘For James’ was originally written for my boyfriend for our first big anniversary celebration! This poem is meant to demonstrate that the season of Autumn is not always necessarily linked to emotions that evoke negativity. Autumn is also a period of connection, embracing for preparation for what’s to come.
And those hands would, in my sleep, of mine would mime.Stanza 1, Line 4
This like many other poems is a love-poem. The first thing you may notice, ‘For James’ isn’t structured. That is very much a reference to the beginning of my relationship with my James which has evolved, changing shape and open for the possibility of direction. I am not announcing this love as brand new. It is a reminder of it’s existence and how much it has impacted my life for the better!
My purpose is not a proclamation,Stanza 12, Line 1 – 2
But a reminder