Wordle #120

120

Our breath gathers in silence,

Gravity igniting in the grooves

We thread and yield like fish in water.

I salt my landscapes with shadows

With loaves of rye bread

And rows of weathered shoes.

My senses exchange themselves

The tilt of your head smells

Of raspberry jam and clover.

We send each other letters

Thick with perfume and plans

For a life we have never known.

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7 responses to “Wordle #120

  1. No one can wrangle words quite like you do, Yves. This has to be one of my absolute favourites so far.

    The tilt of your head smells
    Of raspberry jam and clover.

    ^ God. This right here.

  2. Exactly: “Our breath gathers in silence”

    That third stanza melts me. I love that it’s not her head that smells, but it’s the tilt. The motion. That’s gorgeous. I say “her” because in your last stanza, you say that you send each other letters thick with perfume, which implies that two women are writing to each other. So you’re smelling her, sensing her … but you’re actually far apart.

    This is heavy and sorrowful, but describes a deep connection as well. You’re bearing something together, a loss, a trauma.

    Okay, I’ve got it. This is about two married women who have fallen in love and are planning to run off together and be lesbians, even though they haven’t been before. That’s the “life we have never know.” LOL. 😉 Just being silly. I really think it’s probably about sisters or separated best friends.

  3. Ha. The middle stanzas are really cool together.
    The salt plays into the bread, and I imagine
    the loaves are like the stones – and some raspberry
    jam. Cool synesthesia too. What an interesting
    sensation that would be.

  4. Pingback: Changing Cerebral Landscape | VALIDA'S VAGARIES·

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