clay sings to him
guides his touch
a shared pleasure
as slick fingers coax
a softly swollen curve
a slender neck
a shoulder, lip or foot
sighs beneath his hands
as he feels his way
reads each ripple
deftly redirects
each anomaly
to perfection
his muscled legs
ease the wheel
to still
temporarily sated
he breathes
each timeless moment
neither knowing nor caring
he’s confused
his decorative glazes
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
author bio: Jan Harper
Enjoyment of the written word is a gift I've been granted all my life; to have others enjoy what I write is another, more surprising one.
When a poet's words are read, minds connect at an infinitely intimate level.
My writing has appeared in various print publications, from single pieces to arrangements of 10, plus in numerous spots across the web over the past 20 years.
I'm an ex-Brit living in America with my husband, mother-in-law, dog, cats and chickens, plus coyotes, rabbits, deer, possums and other wild critters; when I'm not writing poetry, I can be found with my hands in the dirt, planting and growing a kaleidoscope of produce, or making jams and good meals from the harvest. Painting, knitting, needlecraft and more all express my love of creating.
(photo taken with my phone of a little spot near Southend, England, where I once sat and ate burger and chips as I contemplated being a mermaid)
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