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Ode to Ivy
by Eric Andrew Schabla

Ivy,
the sun of Spring fills me with work, 
sways me with the wind of day like a sleepless willow ? 
but, my wild darling, it is only the whisper of your skin
that I hold close ? only its slicing light
against my hands, where forever blooms for us

Ivy,
the river gushes out your rhythms, your secret hips ? 
should you leave me for a day 
I will look in and see
your ruthless eyes, naked in its ripples

Ivy,
as the cedars fill their branches with amber life, 
crowning shady weeks with wine, 
so you have drenched my heart
in warm footfalls of rain-
punctual as the dark, covering our little house vines

Ivy,
I crave your longing neck,
the sensual syllable 
you left on the rim of a teacup 
the quiet darkness of your forehead ? 

Ivy,
your name - :
the color of arrogant grapes,
the taste of your eternal fingers,
downpour on the parched orchard

Ivy,
before I knew you 
my eyes were barren with hunger- 
angry salt cracked on my lips ? 
but now, dearest, the moon is your silver mouth,
curved in the crescendo of a masterful smile

Ivy,
my own
when I hunt for you, I hunt the night for infinity
for shadow, grace, for each of your sovereign toes-
I hunt... lost with the howl of a secret thirst
        
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Poem ID: 88468   Poem Posted: 6/25/2014
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