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Array
(
[sid] => 45449
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Methodist Pastor
[time] => 2004-04-29 18:08:13
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => White petaled blossoms emerge from brown grass I notice, reading my book of poems I feel the squeeze of your hand and my shoulders tense like the first night I spent with you Feeling the burning rise of fire and the movement of one person as though he rose out of the trunk of his lover One great tree swaying in a forbidden breeze I've felt like that burned with my own fire claiming your body as sanctuary my body in open prayer (imagine considering yourself a temple) I look to my right pretending not to notice your silent prayer No, I'm not your Belinda You are married to god and I notice the old woman clinging to her nurse's arm as she clings to this life When will we let go? Daffodils in Seattle clutter the hillside yellow engulfing yellow like so many faces lost to us unable to see past our own passion I grip your waist and feel safe among the crashing waves threatening to capsize our little boat "I'm just being affectionate" you say your fingertips gently grazing the small of my back I'm thrown back to your bed where you filled me completely my voice echoed with your song (consider yourself a book of hymns, an actual song to God) Yes, be affectionate remind me of the daffodils of the yellow untouched by water Are you still married to your god? Or are your hymns sung for me now? [comments] => 4 [counter] => 142 [topic] => 2 [informant] => Blu [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 18 [ratings] => 4 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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