Free Verse # 172 (inscribed in her flesh, the etymology of desire)

Inscribed in her flesh, the etymology of desire.

~

Like lightning this longing tears at my skin, incinerating me, from within.

~

Our love
a cocoon of fire
enveloping our weeping flesh
as our bodies,
extinguished in one another,
sail deeper and deeper
into the mystery.

~

Charred and black,
a charcoal,
yet you touched me,
and lo! Like a red moon
I glowed in the heart of night,
dawn’s breath scattering my ash
into the depth of your wet flesh,
soaking deep, forever, inside of you…

~

A summer-sun, my heart. Allow it into your wintery garden and in the thaw let us make love, our each sigh and moan a flower blossoming red.

~

Dionysus in my blood burns, and my poems like bolts of lightning fall over the earth and sky invoking the maenads.

~

The lover inhabits a sphere of light revolving outside the bounds of time and history. Let the world live or die, what matters it to him.

~

Like shooting stars
my poems fall extinguished
into the abyss of your eyes.

~

Your face,
a summer dream
melting inside of me,
a river of infinite warmth
pouring into my heart…

~

teasing each poem
slowly from under your skin,
to squeeze it, like a grape,
into my cup,
then offer it back,
red and warm,
to your lips…

~

Hot and dark, a steaming bowl of coffee,
Together we burned, one soldered body.

~

“Kiss me silent and take my breath,”
In my ear she hushed, sweetest death.

~

pressing each poem
like a seed under your skin
so that, as we kiss,
each will alight
like a star in heaven’s womb,
a white jasmine
in the garden of the moon…

~

You are my seventh day, every day.

~

A river of delicious silence flows under your tongue and my thirsty mouth is maddened by its song.

~

I spin like a star
inside the gravity
of your burning world,
breathless at all times,
melted to the marrow
in the gentleness
of your touch.

~

Your silent yearnings
Burn in my blood,
So when I write it is you
Who rains in my heart.

~

Silently in my heart it burns, the kiss you once laid.

~

a whisper
like a butterfly
between our hearts flutters,
its fiery wings dripping
honeyed drops of wine.

~

The benediction of your kiss ~
a citrus sun to melt into my blood
the fires of your bliss.

~

Soft as a butterfly’s wings
your lips stroke my skin,
and that touch
charged with a thousand suns
melts me from within.

2 thoughts on “Free Verse # 172 (inscribed in her flesh, the etymology of desire)

  1. “teasing each poem
    slowly from under your skin,
    to squeeze it, like a grape,
    into my cup,
    then offer it back,
    red and warm,
    to your lips…”

    I’m in poetry heaven 🙂

    Like

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