Remembrance of Fans
The sound of fans returns me to the pores
of alone summer nights,
sweating pulses of dream echo...
You came to me
in your deep, sweet fear
of lonely desire to be filled
with a gently undulating completion
while our mutual nightmare of separation
had fed on a dark, inner grip,
with us not knowing exactly what it was
except that the hope of desire
would melt prison bars
into light rays from your face and eyes
searching for answers I wasn’t sure I knew
Still, the savage joy, tempest of joined purpose…
… lightning darts of passion,
We absorbed the feel and sound of our deluge,
your dripping hair and skin tanned by the wind,
We crept to the edge of our sea of abyss,
the waves caressed, taunted us,
hinted that we should unravel into each other
since a ‘knot’ is only one foolish jot
of insufficient language from ‘not’
which lusts to rule the darkness of separation,
Our lips searched for our ends, for alignment,
neither stars nor planets needed,
only the furnace-fusion of our inner space,
those lapping sounds of undulation
sweeping closer and closer
until eclipse of all else, drowning and consuming us,
edge becoming center,
feeding ourselves outside in
until you tiptoed away into the mist of our dream
on the sound of the fan
and I was eminently, sweetly lost
in the pores of summer night…
… something tells me that you are still here
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