Cradled

My arms,
a crescent moon cradling you into me,
curling you as a flower along my spine,
bathing you in a warmth so deep
your eyes weep secrets as you sleep,
your breasts becoming the fountains
of a land evergreen,
the pink well between your thighs
a spring of such waters
that bird and tree
from all over the land
come to bathe, drink, and give thanks.
Cradled, inside of me.

Free Verse # 178 (her smile)

Crowded by the echoes of your thunderous silence my eyes became the homeland of your brilliant stars.

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At the billowing waters of your belly, the fluid altar stone, I placed my poem like a star, bid it to fly home.

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Helpless, I fell into her eyes, and flowers became my skin’s bloom as stars night’s sky.

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As into ancient scriptures I delved into your eyes, each word a mystic flower soaked in burning wine.

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Opulent fields of desire. Each poppy overfull to a bursting calligraphy writ on the sky, blood red, a tapestry of sighs hushed mad with want.

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My heart, a night of endless stars blanketing you, each lit freckle seared into your skin, a melting moan, a wet dream, a hushed sigh.

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Her smile disrobing the sun and moon from their grace and glory.

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My soul is churning with a wine so sweet
That heaven herself its froth she covets

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One by one, the twigs of your sorrow I broke, and the scent wafted from their marrow burned with purity.

Free Verse # 177 (my eyes were filled with stars)

You stepped into me and I, like a famished star, stepped into the sun, my skin inside her walls collapsing.

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My breath wrapped around your neck like the silken light of the moon shall be the adornment of your soul.

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All I ever sought I found within the garden of your skin, its fountains of honey and milk.

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It dims and dims, your song, but it never fades, and the fainter it grows the greater my agony.

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The agony of her face which fades and fades but never vanishes. The paler it grows the deeper its burn in the flesh of my madness.

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Nothing remains. Even mountains are bound to fall like autumn leaves into the eternal mist.

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Her curves, flowing rivers eager to stream into the ocean of me.

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Dawn, the onslaught of the stars by the rising sun; the stars be your freckles, the sun, my heart.

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Night, for so long was his camp laid amid the walls of my heart that my stars were snuffed one by one.

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Through your eyes I gaze into the eyes of the world.

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Lyrical madness—what of sanity remains let us sow amid the stars.

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The poem we wrote we hung like a painting above our bed; then, one day as we slept, the painting fell, and we woke up amid its waves.

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Your voice through the mist came cool and chill like the last wave of autumn carrying me into winter’s heart.

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In your snow-thawed stream I wash my soiled wings.

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Stars burned like sacrificial tears on the altar of sorrow.

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I set my words in a winged flight, a pilgrimage coursing through dunes and stars seeking for her womb.

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My existence sings to yours from the deepest oceans of my heart, and together we fly, bound by love.

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Many a wordsmith I’ve met, a blacksmith of the legions of the heart, but never one came close to the burning artistry of her fluid hand, of her tongue made of stars.

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I roamed existence, a stranger, until the day I kissed your skin, my lips growing moist on the earth that birthed me.

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Like a storm of silence your breath blew over me; when the waters receded my eyes were filled with stars.

Free Verse # 176 (ecplipsing the sun)

In the reflection of dawn’s light gathering inside my palms I behold the image of your face.

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Time grew heavy on my heart since your face, like a bird, departed to the clouds.

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In every woman I meet I seek for your scent.

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I gave in to your lips which burn like fervent wine. Now a wound bearing the shape of your smile crowns my surging heart.

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When poetry like a lion roars our heart from its cage is torn to flutter in pure heights.

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Like the verdant branch of spring my breath brushed against your lips, charged with a warm fragrance, and promising bliss.

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Your each freckle I kiss into a burning star then chart its endless rotation with a burning poem inscribed into your skin.

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A shooting star falling into your oceanic eyes; I rose again from the dawn of thine sky, a flame burning brilliant in your breath and sigh.

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Unseen until your eyes stroked the hem of my skin, pierced into my chest like a bolt of lightning incinerating my heart.

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The metaphoric ferocity of your beauty melts the strongest poet into a slow burning.

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Her heart, seeping through her gaze, was touching me, caressing me in endless waves, and it felt like a sun had dawned deep inside.

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…and the flower which I long yearned to inhale I found blossoming on your lips.

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Even the sun is eclipsed when touched by her rays.

Free Verse # 175 (her words kissed my mouth)

Like the sun at dusk
my poem died on your lips
then rose again from your womb,
a white crown over my sky,
a full moon.

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There is a poem burning
on the tip of my tongue;
only you can pluck it with your mouth,
suckle its fire into your aching blood.

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I touched her heart
and like a spring that too long
loomed on the edge of winter
she suddenly collapsed
into the most exuberant blossom.

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The poetry spilled on white sheets after a long night of lovemaking.

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Black as the night, her hair. From each curl a river of stars flows.

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As the sun sets
into the melting sea
so will my poem sink
down under into your womb
to be kneaded from your lips,
a full moan, the moon.

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In the silence of the night
my soul kissed you
and our kiss became the dawn
pouring into the sky.

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Each poem
inside your mouth I flick
like a whip of lightning,
burning down your throat
a river of stars,
my wine seeding you.

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As the warm winds of spring
brush against the cold lips of winter
awakening the sleeping dreams
so my breath in your soul
awakens all your dormant seeds

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Our fingers touched, and through the fields of eternity thunder rolled, shaking the heavens into a shower of stars.

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Your mouth
nestled against my neck
flicking endless hymns,
marking them, red…

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Making poetry utter the death of the beloved, her absence (hallucinating her presence), subsisting on crumbs awaiting the fullness of her lips.

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Life tempts me; I take the bait; I collapse and fall, wounding myself, breaking my bones; I swear, I swear, never again, no more—yet life tempts me, once more.

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Some poems, like silent prayers, can only be uttered in one’s heart, will only be read in the light of the moon.

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Her words kissed my mouth like a honeyed moon.

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The dawn is bloomed, but your skin and my skin weep under different skies.

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Love is but a single moment (a thunderbolt, an earthquake) to which all of eternity (past and future: a ring) is but a single deepening reverberation.

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You are the story which, breath in, breath out, unfolds itself in my blood.

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As you open your eyes the poem I wrote into the light of dawn shall sing itself inside of you.