The Hearts Wine

Like a king the soulbird sits, on a branch
governing this weeping silence.

There is an awakening
falling in to this space of
borrowed grass whispers

and shared fences painted
like naked lover, back turned and eyes shut fast.

He is a noble man filled with sugary words
and candy smiles. She be lady in waiting,
latte’ sipping, red lips dipping,
nail polished tips – no splitting.

Between them, half filled glasses
measure words half spoken,
thoughts, half shared.

Now, be silent.

Do you hear the heartstrings
spilling passion upon this grass.
Lavish stories laid down on your ear.

There is a flowing of stories
when you let silence mingle
with the wine of your heart.

 

 

(c) A Hannan

 

 

The Poets Hand

 

I waited the other side of dawn
A naked flower for company
Knowing not the scent of your woods
Or the wounded wail of your fields.

I waited the other side of night
Hoarding the glow of dusk,
Drowsy in its golden sheen
Limbs, innocent as lilies.

This nuptial, my native fervor
Hung on Venus, awaiting
The sleepy flames of passion ripe,
Enamored in the poets hand.

You hold the Queen
Lit with a festive star, northward
Follow the rim of my wine glass,
Witness the frigid petals, rouged with faith
At last drawing apart.

(c) A Hannan

Meeting Places III

Apprehensive, as icy chills swept across my skin,
snow under my stiletto boots grey and dusty from traffic
making me think back to sun, sand, surf and bronzed breasts
while I reached through the cold, french tipped fingers biting
at the brisk air to ring the doorbell, listening as an irascible reply
bellowed like thunder, rolling along walls in ripples
until it finally trickled to a haunting whisper announcing my arrival.
I could feel him on the other side of the door,
almost hear the slow smooth rhythm of his heart, beat
like wave on sand tugging at a year of planetary movements,
sun rotation slipping across my cherry coloured smile.
The door peeled back on it’s hinges like he had parted the waters
of Babylon and I feel into his arms like a leaf plucked and caught up in a draft,
left to drape around a pole of steal and resolve.
He warmed to my touch, grasping me with a smiling,
holding me there, our heartbeats meeting in a moment of calm
as our breaths chased one another, finally succumbing to each other, abated.
He ran his lips slowly down my neck, lingering along the line of my shoulder
like a wine connoisseur savoring the delicacy of vintage grapes,
filling his nostrils with the scent of 30 years of loving him.
His lips reached back to my ear whispering something,
just below audible, foreign tongue catching on my lungs
like the rich succulent tobacco from my argille,
sweet, arousing, suffocating me. I’m speechless. We paused
there on the threshold of eternity as one thousand lifetimes slipped
between us, building a bridge to hold us to infinity.

I turn to my girl friend, laughing as I notice the expression
touching at her soft hibiscus pink lips.
well, that’s how I image it, that first meeting
…when I let my mind escape

 

 

 

 

(c) A Hannan

The Unsaid Me


Carry me to wine lips, let me taste
the essence of your fingertips,
go slow let me drench my frame
upon your touch, part holy water
presences with bare beautiful.
Floor to path, chair to bed renewing
patience… hunger tending wounds
over our very first, lining the bed with
touch me slow, term my future
gently, your essence tightens
outside glass bells, cupping my alter
ego me on silk and down, fulfillment.

 

 

 


(c) A Hannan

Metaphors & Moans

Fingers carpet my flesh,
Blanket my spine, a shiver
Where words cease.
White stone cities crumble,
Petticoats of red flower clump amongst
Tulips painting daytime fantasies,
Opening to the sun’s narrative as
My mouth outlines your crescendo,
The scent of wine on your skin
Sweet. I drink you, lips bruised
Devouring the delicacy of your metaphor.

(c) A Hannan