Barley -- The Empty Whole

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Date Posted: 13:47:21 06/04/00 Sun
Author: surrendered
Subject: Barley

He was a tall man,
With wild brown hair,
And golden eyes
That stared through you.
The moment I saw him,
I was undeniably in love.
We did not speak, at first,
For I worshipped him
From a far distance,
Waking up in the mornings
Simply to catch a glimsp
Of the curls that rested
On his head.

The day I heard his voice,
I could not go back.

He dreamt far too much
Of Italian hills
And long stretches of
Swaying wheat.
I spoke to him, for the first time,
When his penetrating eyes
Were resting on a dying oak tree.
His attention turned to me
In my worn-out linen summer dress
And bare, calloused feet.
He told me that he dreamt
Of a cool summer breeze,
And his own orchards,
And a girl to paint,
As she danced with the wind.

He was a tall man,
With wild brown hair,
That fell into his face.
He brushed it from his eyes often,
When he laughed.
He smiled for me many times.
He kissed me, once,
So softly I nearly missed it,
And I rested my head on his chest
While he buried his head in my hair.
My hair had always been untamed;
Just as wild as his,
Auburn, and to my waist,
And in his daydreams,
He said it flowed like the wind.

He painted me, once,
When we snuck onto a British farm.
I danced like the wind for him,
And then we lay in a barley field
And made love.
Me, a virgin, and him...
Just beautiful.

I asked him once if barley
Was as nice as wheat,
And he told me we'd see some day
When we got to Italy.

We left for Italy on our feet,
Traveling the long dirt roads
With a tour group.

He did not make it.

I did.

When I reached Italy,
I found what had once been wheat;
Now it was dead reeds.
I lay down in it, and sobbed
Until I bled from the coarse
Reeds beneath me.
I smelled his wild hair,
I saw his golden eyes,
And I rolled over, pressing my wet face
Against the dead wheat.

Barley was so much nicer.

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Replies:

Re: Barley -- Michelle Krysalis Bartley, 14:06:00 06/04/00 Sun