From poems about poems (“Meta-Poems”), last Tuesday’s poetry jam on Twitter took a turn toward love poems. Boy did it take a turn! Below are three, which I’ve entitled “Borrow My Life,” “Life Frail,” and “The Words in the Heavens.”

And there are more to come. It was one prolific poetry jam.

Love Poems 3

By @lorrie58, @memoriaarts, @togetherforgood, @mmerubies, @llbarkat, @poemsandprayers, @doallas, @KathleenOverby, @TchrEric, and @lauraboggess, with a slight contribution from @gyoung9751.

Borrow My Life

Borrow my life;
crush it between
your rough fingers;
secret weight of crushing hand
pushes it into words.
Last night, I dreamed of
secret weights
held back just barely from
crushing,
kept just slightly from rushing
to your arms.

Thighs carry secrets,
support their weight
below the heart and stomach,
holding up desire
above their flesh.
Ecstasy and sorrow float
alone.

Desire to couple can
sometimes make one single,
make one solitary,
even in that moment
when two come together,
Revealing words collected in net,
singing love song,
smelling blossoms
pressed in pages,
seeing the shimmer in the wind,
feeling the ecstasy.

Sifted word-sand,
Shifting word-sand,
drifting on soft breeze whisper.
Whisper when you tell me
no, Lord. Please
whisper when you tell me
no.

Life, Frail

Life, frail,
twist turns leaf upon love
twixt black and white.
Life, frail,
tosses words out,
as from a mouth in anger.
Regret later
finds its home.

Free they flow,
when you
are near,
words harrumphed and
rocky make for
pitching dreams.
Lumpy regret twists
mouth into fragile leaf.

Words won’t heal him. They
don’t help him. I am powerless
beside him. She keeps right on
hurting him. Words hurt him, so
why, if words can hurt so
hard so bad so true,
why can’t they
save him too?

Give me your words.
Mine are finished.
I laid them all out
there for her to see and
she still left me. Her
stone-words
lie in my heart
as a weight unbearable.

The Words in the Heavens

Borrow a couple of
words, a single word, even
I will take it, frail
light as lips brushing
moonlight. Find words in
the face of the moon, on
tips of stars,
within the heavens deep.

Along the Milky Way,
words light up the sky,
bend toward Venus,
looking for Mars.
I do not feel
the burden of the words,
only the lightness
of their afterglow.

Whisper moonlight on
hard words,
lift lightly to
heal.
Venus, love,
Mars, war.
What words do they
share, so different?

Polished ruby red and cut
prettier than white diamond,
bloodier than who
you think I am.
Mars be the challenge;
Venus has words to spare
for love.
I feed them moondust.

Dip your words in
the well of Venus.
Lift them silver in the
dripping afterglow.
Thighs ache,
love rests.
The room is dark and
peace descends.

Perelandra sings as
Venus dips low,
collision of it all made flesh
Perelandra,
where God could start again
with a new Eve,
a day with no
mistakes.