She toils in the ocean of my love.
And yet, she knows not.
The stars proclaim our love.
And yet, she cares not.
The past speaks synchronicity to our hearts.
And yet, she listens not.
Our future boils with possibility.
And yet, she dares not.
Our hearts are wed.
And yet, she consummates not.
She has become the love of my life, my soul mate.
And yet, she is not.
My heart cries for what is not.
My soul languishes for what is not.
My body yearns for what is not.
What is, is what is not.
Upward towards your spirit star
The world bathed in lunar night
Afire with ancient light
This love that cries divine
That first writes “beyond”
Such grace my fawn
Enchanted glide o’er all that’s earth
We dance together
Two deer in love
Enchanted thrusts in moon-wet vulva
My emerald soul rests quietly
In you’re glimmering diamond spirit
Your diamond star
My emerald earth
We two deer flying between
In our dreams…
Was it last February?
I think it was.
A year of moments
In the fullness of her absence.
She pinned me against the wall
In that parking garage
And kissed me as if the next moment she would die.
I watched as she drove the wrong way out of the garage
And in that mystic fog, drove out of my life.
And, yet a year later
I walked down those stairs that lead to our kiss
Behind a shadow that moves from the fog
At the foot of the stairs
I call out, “Hey Charmaine”
She freezes for a moment of eternity
Finally, she turns and devours my sight
She compliments my long hair
I tell her “thanks”
And once again we are enveloped by that mystic fog
I cry once again in the face of the stars that night
I thought I was over her, I wanted to think I was
But once again the silence of the universe
Reminds me that I have no other choice but to love her
And once again I curse her celestial beauty
That gave me a love that can’t be
Except in a mystical fog.
Spring returns in your eyes.
Youth springs eternal in your gaze.
Your waters ever flow through my soul.
Watering my spirit with your beauty (body).
You see yourself anew in my eyes.
You scare yourself again in my gaze.
Who looks at you with love’s eyes?
Is it someone you knew long ago or someone you never knew but needed to?
Love stirs the soul beyond itself.
It rouses the canvas for which it desires to paint.
It empties its deepest content on the blank tablet of the other.
It holds open the world to the new and the old.
It marks time with its contour.
My love lies awake, alone in her bed.
She touches the body I long to touch.
She moans the cry I long to give.
She rests quietly in my invisible arms.
My seamen wets her bed.
My lips caress her head.
My dreams touch her soul.
They quake her body.
They move through her moist crevices.
I reach her tendermost desires.
I fill her pulsating lips.
We lay together, alone and naked.
We share our bodies.
We share our spirits.
We wed as one.
But longing is not yet loving.
Yearning is not yet erotic release.
My love lies awake, alone in her bed
And I lie with her, naked in my dreams.
Her tan, naked body
Stretches with pangs of desire
And rises up to meet me
I fall into her pools
We consume each other in our pleasure
We abandon ourselves to our bliss
Our spirits blend and bend to light
We shine in our earthy, pagan glory
And breathe our dense waves
Of orgasmic release into each other
We convulse with holy, naked vulnerability
Awakened to the moment that spawns all poems
And wet our bodies
With birth of the stars once again for the first time.
One Boulder morning my Jewish girlfriend and I reflected,
What about those dark abodes of Eastern Europe,
Those Ghettos created from hatred and jealousy
Where history demands and requites bigotry
Where god redeems those that snarl and howl their emptiness?
And what of my Southern escape
Where decades of smallness towards blacks has smudged theirs hearts
With the darkest and thickest soul sludge?
Petrified rancid bigotry.
Their children and their god
Pour that bitter goo over decades and generations
And they live in that cesspool
With a pride that can’t be fathomed in it’s howling emptiness
And desolate swampy history.
They sink and bask in their long decaying demise
And every breath they take reinforces that humanitarian devastation.
And what of the Kennedy?
Who was he?
What moved him?
At the pinnacle of this hatred and bigotry
His knife cut through that dark sludge,
This knife that cut him to pieces.
And yet in the face of that Goliath
He went to their sunken core and demanded by law that their children play and learn with blacks.
What ideals in the face of democratic butt kissing causes a man like this to change the tide of history?
And was he the last of his kind?
Where are those idealists that don’t dream but stand firm against the dark tide of history
And rain fresh water into polluted, cultural soul sludge
So that flowers can once again sprout in that dark swamp
And once again, yet for a while, humanity can again be redeemed?
Arising alone I retrace these dancing paths that converge as “me-here”. A rushing wind in darkness rises and falls as gestures which find no voice. Lightening from awe-spilled stars – signs, a place of kindredness, reconstituting and deconstituting as moments that coalesce through wildly varying spaces. Receding from echoless abyss, ‘I’ crashes in thunderous waves gathering themselves from the moment of death. A tumultuous swell throws itself toward lunar rhythms freeing spirit as lighted mists yet crashing through temporal sands and dispersing. Then, this moment which releases all other moments, this stillness which overflows itself towards anticipation of movement. A pause. Fluidtious stirring, not yet amnesic, resonates with all deaths of tragedy. This moment when worlding rests and glittering silence gurgles through the ambiguity of things.