“the lonely loving ground”

lines in the driving rain
like so many clutching hands
in a blue world of faithful clouds
and the shapes that they make
and the atmosphere they create
tunneling through this brushing light
wiping away the heavy mist
from furrowed brows
and dimpled smiles
so delicate are they
these little women
gone and found resting
together they sit upon the scarring plain
like chess-carved pieces
living as they do
on this board of worlds found
calculating genuine movements
in their dull and brown hand-me-downs
tension like lightning in the breast
heads swooning to a fever pitch
they wait for love’s invasion
an army of distant souls
beyond some nearing hill
waiting they must be
and in their lonesome cunning
an embrace will be found warming
in that certain calming way
such that only lovers know
and when the union comes
when hands touch pulsing wrists
they will walk and talk for hours
never knowing of the risk
but for others that have found it
forever in their envy shall it remain
like secrets buried deep
in the shadows of the moon
until the story plays again
until the women they are found
deep in the hidden clearing
just beneath the stars
like the flowers dead and gone
the faded colors shifting sweetly
here in this windswept place
known to most as only
the lonely loving ground

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/29/13


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