Besides Poetry

Hands.oiled heels of palms pulse pushing upward thumbs kneading on both sides of spine you lay face down In warmth Feeling them spread To ripple across shoulder blades Then fingers clutch and knead in almost individual circles crisscrossing and working down To small of back The process is repeated as soft music thrums in constant rhythm How else to tell you? The knife spreads the colours In concentric circular patterns Interacting with the darkness Creating depths stretched canvas cannot Causing three or is it four points of infinity? Making the watcher's eyes crisscross and work in the flows of creation How else to tell you ? Hands clench as tightly closed eyes search through twisting colours The chest contracts as shoulders tighten Then all falls loose Space bends time Tunnels untwist in glass clear mirrored Relaxation Freed and soaring through finity reaching to caress through convoluted tendrils Of Hope and Tenderness How else to tell you