Olives

My love is spread about your feet
A banquet laid from which you pick
An olive placed between your toes
That drips pimento juice, then rolls
Across the floor
Beneath the couch,
Beneath your note,
Forgotten, lost
The moist remains between your toes
Salty, bitter,
Never sweet.

All Rights Reserved, Alicia Fitton 2019
Picture courtesy of Ponce Photography
If you liked this poem, you might also like Insubstantial

Firelight Shy

There’s fire in your hair
As we sit down here talking,
A spark glowing brightly
Amongst growing dim
Were I to touch it,
Would you judge me forever?
Are we matched?
Is it safe?
To say what I mean?

The wind blows so cold
But you smell of red leather.
Like the back of a bike
In cold winter air.
Would you hold me close
And ride over the mountain?
Do I love?
Or envy?
The place where you are?

Lips show such promise,
But I’ll not bite that cherry,
I won’t risk the foolish,
Discomforting quiz.
So I’ll back pedal
And cast hope to the ocean.
My basket
Forgotten,
Just friends with a wish.

All rights reserved – Alicia Fitton 2018
If you liked this poem you might also like Run Dry
Photo courtesy of Music4life

Dryad

I’ve loved so far beyond my means
Last spring I gave her all my leaves
And I have grown so thin and worn
In bark I clothed her supple form
She begged for more.

In pirouettes her water flowed
Her summer hymn down rivers rode
And I forgot how fair folk morn
A splash of laughter from me tore
I begged for more.

I courted her with gifts of gold
The autumn sun shone bright, but cold
An apple jug, a doll of corn
A honeyed drink, an empty store
She begged for more.

Her beauty scored a frozen vein
My bare limbs bore the winter pain
I shiver now for love forlorn
I held her close to keep her warm
I begged for more.

She laid ways to keep me reaching
She laid waste to all my dreaming
So far I’ve loved beyond my means
The price was hope, and yet it seems
She begs for more.

All Rights Reserved – Alicia Fitton 2017

If you liked Dryad, read Companion Piece

Knowing better, doing it anyway

I am foolish, I’ve come out without my coat.
I am foolish, I’ve come out without my clothes.
The cold wind nips at the tips of my nipples,
Hairs on my skin shiver, quiver in the breeze.

The wisdom of waiting is far from my mind.
The wisdom of watching is far from sublime.
Give me a story, a poem or a glance
I’ll stand here forever, till you return my heart.

All rights reserved, Alicia Fitton 2016

If you liked Knowing Better, doing it anyway, read Reckless