Free Verse # 404 (tes yeux mon encrier)

Tes yeux
mon encrier,
ta peau
la vague où
voulant écrire
je me noie,
je me perds.

~

…et le jour tisse le souffle des moments transpercés par la lecture des livres de philosophie, poésie, et le cœur de l’amour.

~

Mystical companionship,
together reading and writing
philosophy and poetry,
tangled in the roots,
two trees growing symbiotic
from the white breast of love.

~

Amour inachevé, amour inachevable, dans tes entrailles le don du poème, de la danse, de la vie.

~

Wanting me to write her poetry
she came,
night overflowing
from her glass of wine,
in the light of the moon
her freckled skin dressed.

~

Tout ce que je possède,
quelque gouttes de sang dilués
dans l’eau du poème,
dans le noir de ses cheveux
un oiseau rouge arrondissant
le nid de mes rêves.

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.

On the Cusp of Spring

Her falling dress
a breath of fog and dew
lacing the forest,
naked she then wades
the blue water of dawn,
in the kiss of her skin
the morning sun rising.

In countless streamlets
the fire of her fragrance
replenishes my inkwell,
out of the hardness of stone
coaxing my will to rise
and face the world again,
shape the world anew
out of the depth
of my love and passion,
the maturity of my manhood,
the rejuvenating vigor of her presence
flowering in my heart,
pervading my being
with the light of eternity.

The Ocean Within Her

She went out today
radiant in the light of the sun
his hands labored to plant
inside of her,
her body a forest
burning with the desire
that gave the stars their light,
her breasts
a spring heaving
in countless red moans,
on her lips and skin
the indelible wine of his kisses
seethed like a velvet cloud of incense
permeating with its fervent aroma
the inside of her bones.

The ocean of his poetry was within her
and the ocean could not be contained,
it flowed and overflowed
as she moved like a fountain,
a cup flooding with the primal source,
the liquid that gave love its reputation,
the blessed light
upon which time in vain
would try his teeth and moan,
vanquished! vanquished!
a rain of jasmines
falling from her hair
and calling the world
to come and drink
and again be whole.

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.

الله في جسدها

لفح عطرها
لم يبق من قلبي
الا وهج نار متقدة
على مذبح العشق

وها نار حبها
في شراييني تمددت
حتى لم يبق مني
الا تأوه الأزهار
مع انبلاج الفجر

الريح تأتي
والريح تذهب
وأنا ههنا أحترق
في ماء عطرها

أضلعي ودمائي وحياتي
عني في حبها ذابت
ذوبان الصلاة
في فم الخمر

الله في جسدها
وجسدها في الله
في ضوءها عرش الوجود
ومصدر الخلق