In the stillness of your breath,
under the crepe silk of your jet skin
my solitude is met in its quest:
when I would ask less of myself -
when I would allow fear to strand me
on the barren marl of grainy doubt -
your tranquil susurrations minister
to the lime-strewn valves of my heart
and the sweat-streaked muscles exerting,
"Keep moving, Son of Eve"
And just as I crest over the apex,
beginning the descent towards the glint
of the incipient dawn, of gilded transit,
your chill-tinged arms embrace my dream,
more than a friend, more than a lover,
quelling disquiet, returning me once more
to the choice of possibilities
and the boundless expanse of all that is
No comments:
Post a Comment