Letter, April 30, 2017

I feel the press of your breasts and soft skin around me, everywhere, coaxing me to flower into you the erection of my body, the life of my poetry. Your light comes in flashes of intuition, falling upon my face as through the sunlit openings of an orchard, and I heed with the attentiveness of my whole body, the animal soul in me. Your dew falls like an erotic enchantment and a buoyancy comes like a fountain rising from the depth of my soul; suddenly I find myself harnessed in shafts of wheat upon the altar of your body, ready to burn, ready to become dough and bread, ready to feed upon the milk of your breasts and the honey of your skin. Your body is the world, the element I am living in, moving through, and this eros, this tension between us mercilessly opens me and challenges me to become in the thrust the man that I am. So I take you, as I give myself to you, as through you I slingshot myself into the sky of eternity.

Woman of silk and fire, woman of milk and honey suckling my wildest desire.

Free Verse # 403 (the fervency of my longing)

His poetry
veiled her eyes
and poured into her heart,
back arched and hurled deep
into the sky of orgasm
he fired the chakra of her belly,
the sun of life.

Radiance embodied
she then moved,
forming and transforming
everything around her,
a world reshaped
in the image of love.

~

Amid the folds
of her skin
his rough beard
pricking
as his lips,
famished,
move in circles
grazing her flower
and melting her
into a seething moan
bursting with the ink
of his poetry.

~

I want to kiss you
as on the first day
when spring flowered
in the bosom of life,
when birds learned to sing.

~

I am a cloud roaming
the meadows of your silence.

~

My poem…
the light of a candle
slowly gathering
in the silence of her heart.

~

If I cannot cry
let these words be my tears
pooling in your cup
the fervency of my longing

~

When I am down
I breathe in and out
as deeply and widely as I can,
centering myself
in the clarity of her light,
the intuition of eternity.

~

Even when old I wish to die in the youth of poetry.

Free Verse # 402 (tangled in the poem)

His poetry made her thaw,
now she flows
with the wildness of a river
in the ocean of his arms,
the radiance of her love soaking
all the corners of his life.

~

Through the folds of dawn
her silence comes,
a dream, a memory.

~

Let night between us be
A moving sea of poetry

~

His love
a wave swelling inside of her,
rushing through her limbs,
flowing, flowering,
laying her open
at the center of his altar,
a seething flame.

~

Whatever the inspiration
the poem is always her,
a star-seed in the sea
of her poetry.

~

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Photographer unknown

Cocooned in his love,
the flame of the goddess
ablaze in her body,
her skin against his shore
shuddering with the fire
of a thousand thousand waves.

~

Tangled in the poem as in my lover’s hair.

Free Verse # 401 (her healing presence)

The ocean at night, a poem without a skin.

~

Sleepless in this longing
the desire that leaves me aching
for the dew of her silken thighs,
the ink of my poetry.

~

Weaving the candle’s light…
a shawl around her neck,
a dress to adorn
the curves of her nakedness.

~

Her womb
the ocean calling
all his rivers,
their flow
an electric surge
coursing her skin,
carrying the fires
of ancient altars
to the roots of her desire.
His swollen heat,
his tidal flow,
a surge in her belly
rippling concentric,
deeper than the ocean,
wider than the sky.

~

Solitude
to write, to live,
to breathe again,
to find myself open
to the light of the sky,
a poet wanderer,
a bird of passage.

~

Making love
and recording our voices
reading poetry,
Rumi, Neruda,
and the fervent silences
of our merging lips.

~

ضياء القمر
بحار تائه
في أسود شعرها

~

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Artist Unknown

Her healing presence,
merging with him
she lights his fire
when it dwindles,
unafraid of his dark
she sees into him,
moves into him,
rooting his heart
in her boundless love.

Free Verse # 400 (only love)

Across lifetimes
we beckon each other,
two birds calling
from the leafy boughs
as the tree of time
grows and sprawls,
its roots rising
from eternity,
its branches spreading
in the sky of love.

~

His touch seethes the sun in her skin.

~

In his web of words
rocking gently
as the fire of his being
burns her body
to a slow gush,
her sultry water
his cup of wine,
the ink of his poetry.

~

Dawn…
in the white silence
our shared breath,
flowering

~

Her poem
rubs against his fullness,
sultry waves probing
the deeps of his ocean,
her flowers imbibing
the light in his words.

~

Dawn…
her body over mine,
her being in mine
shuddering
as the world is born again,
as from the ash of our poem
we are reborn.

~

The love of love
for which words
are messengers,
vessels carrying
the eternal flame.

~

His touch is not physical
yet it binds her;
his shadow
comes over her
and her ocean
is at the root
of his mountain,
waves unfolding
from her core.

~

Dusk settling…
in my heart the winged
dance of poetry

~

Love sighs and we scatter,
embers in the wind,
our bodies
the dust of ancient stars
catching fire once again,
burning in eternal light.

~

His words in her mouth
a succulent ferment
of a thousand poems
burning all at once.

~

In this transient world only love endures.

Free Verse # 399 (a chapel on the hill)

In a loud world
my heart
is a calm chapel
lying somewhere
on a green hill
where birds sing
and streams murmur
as your voice
inside of me wanders
like incense
like prayer
like the prophecy of poetry

~

Cracks
where moss grows,
the chipped lips
of the cup that once
flowed with our wine,
burned hot with our tea
as we made poetry.

~

Sometimes I touch you
and this touch
swells my heart
in rivers of poetry;
manhood?—
rooting myself deeper
in the sanctity
of this touch,
annihilated as your being
becomes my heart’s poetry,
swimming inside
your throbbing sea of light.

~

A fiery death,
a moth’s death,
in her kiss I feel
the boundless force of life.

~

Poetry has always been a way to polish your face in my heart, to bring its light to a greater shining in my soul, my life.

~

Dawn,
I wake up drowning
in a sea of your sighs,
your breath
a shawl curled
around the limbs
of the world,
its heat
rising from the earth,
raining from the sky.

~

Traversing
the wet ponds of night
her shewolf howl
arrives at dawn,
a tremor shaking
the sea of sleep,
a primal bite
in the flesh of poetry.

~

Her fragrance
an assassin’s knife
stealing through the night,
the fire of its steel
burning against my neck,
blazing the dark forest
of desire and poetry.

~

Her skin absorbs his words
like water the light
as she fills with the glow
of his states of mind,
the wine of his poetry.

One Quiver, One Drop

My breath of words
inside of you travels,
a shawl of mist stroking
your hidden sea of dew;
the red leaves in your garden
shiver wet
as your damp limbs and boughs
gently sway;
your skin flowers
into a blood red moan,
from between its petals
a river gushing,
scarlet whispers hushed
on a quiet summer eve,
one drop from its flow
diluting a thousand aching seas,
one quiver of its passion
burning a thousand universes
on the altar of eternity.

Free Verse # 388 (itinerant heart)

Winter moon
in the aching window…
you, my insomnia,
combing my hair,
your breath
in the pathless night
weaving all my ways,
your fragrance
a candle keeping vigil
in the sinews of my veins.

~

Your poem
a voracious thing
in the hollow
of the moonless night
biting at my skin,
veins deep spewing
the melody of its blood,
its ferocious ink.

~

Anise and incense…
the oars of your breath
splashing in my skin

~

Itinerant heart selling tea
In a breath of poetry

~

Night falls –
her blood and mine
one inkwell,
all the poets of the world
dipping their pen
into our hearts and writing
the holy name of love.

~

Night falls –
the silence
a skin of dew lacing
our tangled bodies,
merging in a soft fusion
the seams of our skin,
our joined breath
poetry…

~

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Her body she offers,
a sea to be crafted
by the ink of his fire,
exalted on the altar
of lust and poetry.

His Ink; Her Juice; Their Poetry

She laid there
surrounded by candles,
the inked verses
of past night’s lovemaking
sprawling like vines
all across her naked skin,
the bowl of grapes
placed on her belly
trembling each time
his pen pushed
into her, into the pink flower
between her thighs,
wanting her essence, he said,
her juices mixed
with each word he wrote
in his private journal,
and as the writing
became feverish
her mouth caught fire
and flared with moans
brighter than all
the surrounding candles,
brighter than the moon
peeking jealous
through curtains.
At the pen’s last stroke
the grapes
pressed between their bodies
burst like moans…

Haiku # 441

Her savage ancestry…
in dawn’s silence
the moon’s white flower

~

Her savage skin…
under the full moon
a sea of waving flowers

~

In the dawn breeze
the falling dewdrops
too silent to be heard

~

Beautiful death…
all at once the camellia
giving her head

~

If death is white
flower-heads falling
in a pond of moonlight