Unapologetic
Today Marianne’s jeans fit tight. Reflected on the bedroom mirror Her rounded face announces A waxing moon Her swollen figure rising waters Plump transmutation of phases Compels time for curves Unapologetic Aphrodite above Smiles like cotton candy Remembering the soft babble Of Marianne’s natal baby talk A young brook in her throat When Taurus in the horizon Oceans will wash over generous Convex skin to be embellished In foamy fur From thighs to hips Up the buxom breast Around a venusian belly Still shy Marianne seems vexed But the moon asks for a day or two That she might be heard Through the curved shadows Of a summer night When her light summons Girl almost a woman Close the bedroom door Liberate Aphrodites thighs Under the moon’s plea Let her breasts down free When tides are playful And your imperious belly Full of promise Will claim her power Unapologetic.
Home Element
His hands should feel like home Familiar as fresh morning coffee Otherwise I couldn’t even imagine Steaming cups terrenal Espresso lust and mocha, Dribbling down the corners of our lips. And if our grounds were too alien I’d lose my way to such skin Because when a calm moons linger silent In his stoic eyes constricted His old beam permeates my phantom clouds Troubled from vapors Imprisoned in my mind. We may be two versions of the same As he reaches New heat ignites prudent blue Pink and orange Loosened soil from his grainy palms Tells familiar truth forgotten. And at the highest of life’s overwhelm With gracious hands humid After another grinding afternoon I can still tell He’s not all water He is more of earth So I lean on his chest and feel the evidence. A heart beating sturdy inside firm walls My hands lay on them assured Remembering things elusive. That home can stand amongst phantoms Unsettled Clouded And even then He holds me.
Lifeline
I’ve pondered lately, looking out this lighthouse, the one we never considered stopping at. Your childhood boat cannot get close enough, it seems lost amongst the peaks of heaving challenge, dipping in a yes, swaying in a no. Yet, the beacon keeps doing the rounds, shedding light over the restless ocean of epochs. And we’re still here, trying to moor. The sea hasn’t deceived us, we always knew. There is strength beyond our means, stirring under the waves, and yet, we pretended to navigate by the book, as if unsurprised. When I finally made it to land you weren’t with me. I walked to the stone tower, let myself inside its vacant walls of salt. The emptiness roared as I climbed up the spiralling stairs, the weight of our past heavy, on my dried out knees. But I chose to come. Every night, as I tried to sleep, I could hear them. Powerful waves of deep secrets crashed against the cliffs, all around. And every night my eyes snapped open, just before the worst and final blow. I got the chance you didn’t on that unexpected misty morning, when our shabby boats settled over a silent crystal pool. The creaking stopped, the wind grew still. I could see right through to the bottom. Blue-green rays rippled below, soothing the interior, making soft dunes. I imagined myself a seal in divine waters, so I dove in and swam unhurriedly toward the lighthouse. You were sleeping. But I didn’t expect the emptiness inside, and I wasn’t properly attired for virgin land. Love, nobody will tell you. Beginner’s freedom stands cold against a brazen ocean, no voices, no song. Will you ever forgive my leaving? I’m still here, at the lighthouse. Won’t you look up, ride a wave, leave the dried up boat. Break off the pretended vessel. Come to me. I’ll ask the sky for a misty evening, because I know you hate mornings. I’ll throw you a line, but only if you are willing. It’s the only way oceans really settle, the only way they abide.
Prayer
I need Grace from the universe Miracles Strength under my feet Electric breath pushing upward. A new gift from the whole of it A token A pass Gateway to abundance Incoming tide on my barren bank. River of heaven I look up and plead from under Drench my porous faith Where broken stone invaded naive pebbles. Nourish me Ripple in organic microcosms Bustling of minerals pervade the dryness, My skin to awaken This body to engage. Retreat and leave me after Glistening in radiant sheen Almost vacant Drenched in grace Crisp. And know me Under the roar of rivers My voice lost asunder In currents gone wild That these hands would not ask If this soul didn’t need.
Song Spirit
Song Spirit of days past delivers appropriate comment. Thoughts triggered by melodies ongoing in the city’s mist, uploaded onto particles invisible, that he knows well how to catch. Quickly, he throws in the right verse. Masterful in the art of capturing exact moments, almost a machine, he recovers musings leftover from sleep, memories believed to be forgotten, old coats hung in the cloakrooms of our past. He sings by day and, when night falls, keeps to himself, as we observe dreams unfold in curiosity. Dim meanings unravel in ways I cannot decipher. But his silence has a purpose. He waits until morning, when the proper wavelength travels back, again filling my head with sound. Upon awakening, Song Spirit catches passing vibrations and pokes at my ear. That I should know the song, that it sings exactly what we saw in dreams, that I should learn it already. We yawn. Soonafter he takes flight afresh, dismissing my pace. I asked him to stop for a moment, to explain the new tune circling my head. He answered it was impossible, for he catches moments riding sound waves, it’s a continuum. What he won’t say is that his work is play, when he tickles the sprites to release the song I had forgotten.