Another Country

[Robert Crisman]

Your smile knifed like butter, you whispered soft slurs in my ear, and our bodies entwined in the darkness. We sang the old song, sometimes off-key, and sometimes attended by others, to help whet desire and move things along in accord with the dictates of voices implanted a long time ago.
I'd read you stories of faraway women and men deep in shadows where danger's a shrouded embrace.
And, almost always, echoes lapped gently as you closed your eyes and pressed against me to sleep.
Wide awake still, I'd raft through the wilds, your storms bathing mine in a light in a forest, rainswept, at the end of the world.
It was a place I'd never called home until I met you.

[Glen Green]

"rainswept, at the end of the world " - you are rolling, friend. the poet has emerged.

[Sandra Davies]

That fourth sentence is so tender, and the imagery of the rest so very individual - as poignant a piece of writing as I've seen from you.

[Angela]

Robert, I am moved, which I never say lightly. An excellent piece of writing that puts the reader inside it, and leaves them tearful when it is over. Every woman dreams of being the subject of a work like this.

[Joe Gensle]

Last part sounds like Finisterre (Spain!). SOMETHIN' nooged your soft spot, RC! You must be missin' Roanne... Nice job!

[Robert Crisman]

@ SJ: I wouldn't call it sentimental. There's plenty of sentiment here, but not for its own sake, but rather as a result of the story and what it means to me. But you're right: love means having a home to go to.

[Sissy Anderson]

You really are a romantic aren't you? This is almost edible.

[Bonnie]

This is totally beautiful, Robert! Expertly given; I feel as if I have intruded...

[Teresa]

That 5th sentence should be bronzed (or gilded) and showcased on the mantels of all writers...