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