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.