plaça de mercat poem by Jenny Browne

sun’s warm tongue
licks at the corners
walls of houses
bathed in yellow
balconies built of
roses flags strung
flapping wildly
so many curves

i could be
running
fingers down your
outline in my head
comparing your
dips and swells to
that green villa
on the carrer de la
boatella
my darling
how it loops around
toward the orange
tree
and you bend
to my will

i should hang from
you a flower
basket creeping
wisteria entwining
wrapping
flesh to flesh oh
if i had roots i
would grow into
you

the veranda could
become your
shrine every drip
of morning dew
settled on a petal
reflection of
perfect nipple
toasting the sun
standing to attention

this morning
the blinds drawn
half up half
folded as the
sheet covers only
half of you

what’s left
splayed out
in the
sun fragments of
light bounce off
your bones
tangled in a
matted crown of
morning hair
leaning in close
enough to
feel your breath
on me but i don’t
touch you
not just yet

you rest in the
soft deep soil
warmed by the
spanish sun
in your own leafy
corner of the
flower box or
maybe heaven
strung
up
admiring the
view as i
do you

Jenny Browne will be submitting poems every month from now on. Continue to check back to see her work.