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l. ward abel

so you this is you

by l. ward abel

So you,
this is you
virtual now,
a figure where woods
thin to open-ness,
silhouetted at first
then clearer.

We have lain,
your milky-white
edged with tufted placement
gentle young
enough shadow
to cast in verde
your soft lower lip.

One strand of hair
drops left eyebrow blown,
a line of expression
meets plane and point
geometric affection,
hewn: a glow
that never leaves you.

The color of trees
rests as fluid
upon loyal breastplates,
committed to me,
southwest windows ajar.
I couldn't get
the smell of silk from my soul.




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