romance

(a sonnet)
 
As sun's last supplication ends the day,
Anointing Earth in pools of golden light.
Somewhere, unseen, musicians start to play,
A woman's voice takes up the song of Night.
 
With words that whisper love to famished hearts,
Like children's prayers from dinner tables' grace.
With notes that heal, the troubled soul departs,  
Like gentle Moon, harsh light of sun replace.
 
At Night's procession's final yellow glow,
Her music flows like tears from joyful eyes.
Within the melody new verses grow,
Let Earth begin the chorus and reprise.
 
The Moon and Night begin to sing along,
And grace this singer's po'm, her evensong.

My Dearest,      
     
The crippled shape      
of your words reached      
my atrium today, slightly      
squeezed before filling      
its chamber with content      
     
Metaphors of melancholy;      
a congregation of meaning  
lined at the stationary font    
of Holy-Watered Belief    
     
Such intricate calligraphy    
exposing delicate vulnerability    
so perplexingly genuine      
     
Repentance behooves me;    
patterns my own quill    
having etched various      
designs in sorrowful motif    
across personal existence    
     
We all, through experience    
sacrifice innocence      
upon an altar of misstep;    
     
Momentarily surrender      
balanced logic to mistakes      
we'd later regret    
     
These Life-altering Teachers      
of consequence puncture      
the landscape of History      
with the contrast of Dreams    
     
You beseech Forgiveness    
to ease the burning of Moments    
and summon Hope    
     
But I say yesterday is gone      
and what was never Lost      
needn't be found again      
     
What sin is so grave    
to warrant waving      
a Sun-Dusted wand of Grace      
before any Human presence      
     
I am neither Jury nor Judge      
over the blueprints of others      
except for those of myself      
     
On the contrary, I am You    
I am Her, Him and every One      
between who've thrown stones      
     
I have no power to bridge regret    
nor heal wounds except to move    
forward with Time's Love      
     
It's all I know    
     
The Absolution you seek      
waits Patiently within Yourself    
     
Whispers, "Come Home to Us"    
     
     
My Dearest      
Page 2      
     
You seem so good at leaving    
So adept at forming Goodbye    
from an alphabet Null and Void    
to my stationed vocabulary      
     
I always envisioned Love    
as the First Mate of my Heart    
weathering swells, repairing sails      
navigating obstacles    
     
You Jump I Jump    
No matter what      
     
Until our ocean found its shore;    
our bonfire its song    
our lips its rum      
     
Maybe I've been wrong      
     
All I've ever known of survival    
is being left behind      
to stay the course      
     
Abandoned at the Helm      
or Universally separated      
by unveiled dishonesty      
     
I don't know how to give up    
or why I still Believe in something      
that hasn't manifested itself    
in this long Life I've lived    
     
Perhaps I'm meant      
to pull anchor, turn starboard    
and sail straight into the Fire      
     
Alone      
     
Who knows. . .maybe someone's      
on the other side      
having already been through      
     
Maybe it will be You    
perhaps that's where you've gone    
unable to bear watching Us burn      
     
And maybe You'll say      
with a smile on Your face;      
     
" What the Fuck    
took you so long? "      
     
My Dearest      
Page 3    
     
I do not profess knowledge    
of that which I know not;    
all I can offer is a Spirit      
that won't surrender      
to the lack of Faith      
nor promise      
what isn't mine to give      
     
That even Lost at sea    
with little or no provision    
there is happiness      
     
The Future is her own Mistress    
elusive to any grasp    
and constantly summons at will    
     
We are powerless to her pull    
yet the method of arrival      
is of our individual choice      
     
We'll stumble, our bones breaking    
persist, rejoice, succumb      
to the disease of showerless days    
and detoxifying stench of rot    
on our skin    
     
Beg for fresh water      
     
Maybe we'll feel ashamed      
try to cover our naked imperfections  
exposing weakness in the hull    
     
Shame can become a deterrent    
refusing to reach for a buoy      
in shark infested waters      
     
Opting instead for ravenous jaws      
to scatter its sinew and blood      
across the current as fish food      
     
It can be an excuse overthrowing  
a weary Vessel in weakness;  
a Mutiny against Love;      
     
an unholy insurrection      
becoming the new      
Capt'n of Your Heart:      
     
a cold, unfeeling hollow      
of Living Death      
without the fullness      
of tears and Joy    
     
Or, it can be squelched;    
led Northbound into the rocks    
a failed shipwreck of debris    
     
While You cleverly double-back    
South for the open horizon      
of possibility      
     
Like the True Pirate You are  
and Capt'n of My Heart      
   
All My Love    
   
T    
     
~    
     
 

Not something;
Everything

Months of watching    
you have passed  
    
Your tough exterior    
juicy rare, deep pink with blood    
inside a vague mixture of musk  
with fragranced Life  
    
It's Tuesday; you're wearing    
that plaid skirt --  
its side buckle barely    
holding the flaps together  
    
Your toned thighs Ivory    
Towers in the Sun    
solid gateways to  
your Altar of Offering  
    
Aphrodite's drum beat  
graceful movement  
regal rite of passage    
between my lips;  
my tongue evoking  
moisture from dryness  
    
migrating to the constricted    
tuft of your anus    
    
A curmudgeonly aura  
your escort, a take-no-shit    
mahogany headdress    
marching in perfect step    
to the bubbled outline  
of your ass batting fabric  
    
just enough to glimpse    
the white cotton flag of surrender  
beneath the pleats  
    
Your crisp shirt pristine    
debutante white from lack of fondling    
I glance at my ungloved hands  
for cleanliness  
    
They're dirty with thought;  
your buttocks cupped  
tightly compressing  
you against me    
    
But not for sex, Oh. . .no;  
to hold your lips inches    
from my own lingering in respect  
of your Sacrosanct Breath    
    
Outward things we notice  
passing are dusted with Time;  
dormant desires stirred by movement  
our attention, captured by Faith  
for what lies beneath the superficial    
    
It's what I've seen beyond your nipples  
protruding in a downpour with no shelter;  
what I know past the orgasm    
crashing across my tongue;  
high tide breakers of salt    
washing ashore    
    
that bind me to you.    
    
Moist morning dew, pooling  
in the small of your dimpled back  
and evaporating delta    
    
Oh, My Mary  
    
It's the Monday you stopped    
gave your lunch to a homeless  
person in the park    
    
It's the Wednesday you held a dog    
parched from 90 degree heat    
up to the water fountain for relief  
    
It's the Thursday you bought  
ice cream for an impoverished family  
because they had none  
    
It's the Friday you gave    
all the cash in your wallet    
and your umbrella  
to a street musician    
playing for his next meal in the rain  
    
It's the Saturday you adopted    
an orange-buttoned tabby    
abandoned in the trash bin    
    
But, mostly it's the Sunday, Mary    
that Sunday you sat by yourself  
early in the morning  
your loneliness descending stars  
obscuring the galaxy of your wishes  
    
Wishes for more than fingers    
to squeeze or teeth to bite  
or hands to part your swollen lips  
for a penetrating strap-on  
to desecrate the sacred channel    
of your ass    
    
Wishing for more than fantasy    
to explode around you  
layers of tongue'd clit being eaten  
licked sucked fingered fucked    
for seconds of release  
    
Only to open your eyes to emptiness    
from the illusion of happiness  
Only to open your eyes alone    
sheets tangled around the clock  
bodies dressed and gone    
    
The aromas of sex permeating  
thick in the absence of Love  
    
My Mary, how you give what    
you desire in hope it returns    
manifesting your nights  
with the anointing of Tantric    
    
Your Yoni, Source of Creation    
massaged in increments    
measures of comfort across the satin  
pillows on which you recline    
    
Unsheathed candles stabbing the darkness  
from around you with daggers of light  
defending your right to shine    
illuminating a mill pond of ripples  
curling as smoke around your pupils    
    
Your arms above your head in surrender  
stilled lips echoing "Please" . . .    
    
But I won't take you, Mary  
not our first night. . .  
    
No  
    
Our first night will be wine to ruby    
your lips, chocolate sliding    
from tongues down our throat  
fire of bathwater and ice between my teeth  
to awaken the dormancy of complacency  
    
To shake the foundation    
of the Ordinary Life you've settled for  
out of disbelief and lack of Hope  
for a Truth you've yearned  
in your Heart of Hearts    
would come to pass  
but never did  
    
You'll fall asleep against my breasts  
having laughed all your laughter  
and cried all your tears  
from the threshing floor  
    
fulfilled, satisfied, and Loved    
without having been penetrated once  
    
Because, My Mary, it's not your  
outward beauty that will enable me    
to climb the fortress walls    
and capture the Kingdom of your Heart    
    
Forever as Best Friend and Lover  
Protector and supporter    
    
But everything about you, Mary  
    
Months of watching    
have passed    
    
It's Tuesday; you're wearing    
that plaid skirt --  
    
It's time I introduced myself.    
~