Conclusion: Water

Sea Lover

You and I, gradually
interpreting that dance
we've practised, quietly, for years
as a stretch of grace
a loosening of lines
delineating your defence, or mine
I'm leading, though you set
the music breathing on my skin
(feetsoles exposed);
tautology of etiquette
demanding that we linger
on the boundary of touch
ambivalently signing
the willingness to risk
as in the choreography of chance,
your gentleness is dark
deferral of the flood
of enervated voltage
the chords between us sing
the light between us hurts

The Baptism of the Neophytes

The expression of your testament
flows skin to sublimate. Come here,
process until the plateau floods, and
time repaints that moment to the wall,
your mouth bruised with faith.
Life's torrential, a brush of flesh,
your collage of submission. You
can only push at love so much,
—spending rain in reparation—
thought that hurts confessed in free dimensions,
lifted through speech to the eye's
pigment, a touslement of fruit,
soft-eyed in tension's handling.
I'll read again our slow transections,
the critical refluxes of despair
harbouring innocence, a glance of light
wreathing narrativity
like velvet in the raw, you're
surviving the ache of smoke,
the fire that clouds us up.

Sarah Law | Mudlark No. 14
Contents | Preface