Hanging on to a special gift
Love bundled into a box
Cradled between idle fingers
Tracing out a pentagon
Dangling from your neck so light
A figure un-named, divine
Keeping space for every spell
Rumbling from within
I don’t want to hold onto this enormous feeling.
A Skeptic once said the past isn’t present,
So let us believe that a fullness isn’t real
(A limit we reach where we can no longer give, share, believe),
Let this feeling take us on a tenderness stroll
Like sheer cotton shading giant pillows we lounge upon,
Meandering through ancient streets and wild forests
Where we stop at every third park bench we pass
To sit closely and pretend we’re still consciously speaking
In syllables that reason can understand and explain,
For to me your words speak in gestures only my ears
– And perhaps the dear sweet Cupid who so cleverly pinned us –
Can fully grasp at, mingled so heavily with vibrant lips
My eyes cannot escape being entranced by,
And breath mine hairs can feel so warmly upon
With your gentle yet firm fingers ever so delicately
Squeezing a new pattern into mine palm of eternity.
I want to hold onto you, the back of your neck with softest of curls
As our lips mean to share what we’ve intoned of a feeling,
Forgetting for brief moments our shooting star madness
And living a while longer by the bane of our senses.
Alone I walked into the sea
To bare my naked chest
I stood here staring into darkness
And no voice returned back at me
No cry was heard from my mouth
No quiver upon my lip
For virtue had led me to here
Neither shame nor blame held me
And to this eye I stared right back
No wrong turn had been made
My toil left me up to my neck
My strength helped me breathe.
What would it feel like to have your neck in my lips
Your skin so close to my heartbeat.
Would your eyes look up at mine
From the top of your conscious gaze?
Would it be your fingertips or mine
Tracing entangled veins, tender areas
Upon a dreamscape of freckles and moles
A back opening up like hidden pages of a precious diary.
Would we’d twist and roll
Like two logs in a well kept fire
Burning as slow as we could
So each new ember could linger upon our tongues?
Would sensations erupt here?
Down our traced spines
While our roots began to slowly grow tighter
In a full surrender to our nature.
Where are my eyes,
The sad fellows singing heart songs
Along icy Nordic roads
To the beat of thump thump thump –
Hard footsteps to control
As solid Mother Earth
Shuts down her blooming
To awaken the underbelly of life
That slowly crawls in vein-like formations
Through all things
Dead or alive.
Where are my eyes
That I have not let sing
But needlessly fret over wrinkled sheets,
Ignoring the awakening world
In a thin veiled frost,
Laid out as if the spine of her neck
Were strangely tingling
Alerting her of tragedy.
Where are my eyes?
This takes time.
Your neck scratches
Twist heroin like
Spirals towards starlight.
Your heavy steps
Nick solid wood,
Pick pocking veneer
For random acts.
Your tight lips
Close proud moments up
With smeared lipstick
That’s left on
Too many strangers.
This takes time
To get this way,
And it takes time
To step out.
My safety net has developed holes,
It’s begun to sink with rising tides
That are bringing plastics and driftwood
Into the already discombobulated foray
Of pinks, greens, oranges, and dust.
My dental-floss fixes promote algae
In places I don’t want algae.
Is this growth?
Have I become burdened with my own safety
To the point I’m now over my neck
And flailing for life?
Is this harmonious with progress,
Or is this the definition of distraction?
I recognize I’m becoming dizzy.
A repeated whisper finally touched my senses,
Leaving a mark upon my soul.
It was said I was to be a lover,
To unite with all I’ve to offer,
Like sacred pools near sweeping oceans
Another whisper upon my neck.
Crawl out upon breaking waters!
Raise your hands up to the gods!
A breath beneath your light footsteps,
A sun upon your brow.