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Poem

It is the scent of you, that breathes in me.
It is the music when you laugh
that chants across the apse
between our heartwalls,
signaling desire, tossing off forever
thoughts of penitence and shame.
It is the holiday of you
that sings in me.

My eyes need not fulfill the longing in me;
memory alone creates the picture of black hair 
in counterpoint to your brown visage, showing
love that mystics know,
and glowing with an eastern light
from eyes that tell instead of see
and still withhold the quintessential mystery 
of you.

So it is that with a rapture
I may part your thighs.
and dream inside a newer form
of dreaming; you present me
with a prototype of lust 
to celebrate divine intent.
I may harden, knowing
that the juncture of your power
to seek the world becomes
my universe at home--my refuge
in a cannonade of fury
at relentless flesh turned back.

Yet not forever will it yield,
for in its place your own sweet cavern
makes surrender, victory"
my pounding, cadence to the song
of sacred violence that ages beg.
The voiceless thunder of our kiss
is just an echo to our cries of welcome
to the second death
to rival paradise.

Inside your body I release
the restless children of my love,
bursting into you to claim a prize
they cannot understand, their dying
glorious in fulfillment.

Ride with me, my love,
inside the chariot of sweetness;
madness is our quest
above the fiery wheels--
the moment of the flood 
our own eternity!
      ~

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