I am to be showered with confetti at Easter: red, yellow, blue.
Shattered from cascarones; chips of egg shells and colors clinging to a cashmere pullover, red with desire through my skin.
Desire for life, lust, love.
Through the body; as the body; now.
I am to sweat with my lover at night, my body humming with the sound of the fan. And after, the smooth draw of my fingers over his flesh, fingers, face. Breath, blood, blended into eternity, now.
I am to watch young boys scream in joy, dance with bows and arrows, crying for experience of life, limbs, broken destinies, potential powers and heartbeats.
I am to taste pistachio ice cream, glide in a tango step, scrape the ice from my windshield December mornings and cringe.
Ah, the passion of love, the glory of death. All my shadows spun into one stage. One life, pressing into matter shapes of ecstasy, intimacy, hunger and rage. Splendor, fireworks, moon shadows, chipmunk squeaks, newspaper ink. A friend’s shoulder to cry on. A mother’s absence to move me forward, inward, toward myself, toward the other.
My glasses are broken. I don’t need to replace them. Heaven all around. I see it. I see it clear as Her breath on petals at dawn. As ravens gleaning the fields, cawing in rhapsody. As children’s tongues reaching for snowflakes, as jasmine blooming into night. As my sex rushing toward creation; bewilderment; body. How mysterious such life, such joy.
I now know how to stop, look, blossom, expand and indulge – all in one.
Fully expecting it to pass into the shades of memory, as death is already among us.
So why not ravage the moment.
I sense that’s all there is.
Quiet now, or you’ll miss it.
For I am to speak movement into space.
Spread starlight into eyesight
And bring senses into worship.
Shattered from cascarones; chips of egg shells and colors clinging to a cashmere pullover, red with desire through my skin.
Desire for life, lust, love.
Through the body; as the body; now.
I am to sweat with my lover at night, my body humming with the sound of the fan. And after, the smooth draw of my fingers over his flesh, fingers, face. Breath, blood, blended into eternity, now.
I am to watch young boys scream in joy, dance with bows and arrows, crying for experience of life, limbs, broken destinies, potential powers and heartbeats.
I am to taste pistachio ice cream, glide in a tango step, scrape the ice from my windshield December mornings and cringe.
Ah, the passion of love, the glory of death. All my shadows spun into one stage. One life, pressing into matter shapes of ecstasy, intimacy, hunger and rage. Splendor, fireworks, moon shadows, chipmunk squeaks, newspaper ink. A friend’s shoulder to cry on. A mother’s absence to move me forward, inward, toward myself, toward the other.
My glasses are broken. I don’t need to replace them. Heaven all around. I see it. I see it clear as Her breath on petals at dawn. As ravens gleaning the fields, cawing in rhapsody. As children’s tongues reaching for snowflakes, as jasmine blooming into night. As my sex rushing toward creation; bewilderment; body. How mysterious such life, such joy.
I now know how to stop, look, blossom, expand and indulge – all in one.
Fully expecting it to pass into the shades of memory, as death is already among us.
So why not ravage the moment.
I sense that’s all there is.
Quiet now, or you’ll miss it.
For I am to speak movement into space.
Spread starlight into eyesight
And bring senses into worship.
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