Amid Her Waves

Unknown photographer
Unknown photographer

The length of her back
a wild symphony of waves
into one another clashing,
frothing white and lashing
salt in endless sprays,
weaving the air into poems fraught
with soft melting hymns,
each in midair curving
into a soft burning flame
then weeping, in my palms,
on my aching fingertips
the unbearable desire
to course through her waves,
become the sailor whose ship
plunges ever deeper into her mist,
become the red sun whose lips
shiver with a boundless thirst
to imbibe her frothing wine
and be drunk, drunk, drunk
on this softest of all cruelties.

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Free Verse # 266 (their fingers touched)

With his lips and fingers
he traced her freckles,
counting, memorizing, alighting,
the way a poem-flame grazes
a sky made of stars.

~

She stood before the mirror
and kept whispering his name,
by and by her lips flowered
and the bees and butterflies
came in to feast and sip.

~

Their fingertips touched
and the silence filled with the wonder
of a thousand budding stars

~

With a gaze forged
by the fire of longing
she looked at him,
her heart a red rose budding,
silence gathering them
like clouds in the sky.

~

Like water through the vale,
like waves lapping the shore
his hands caressed her
until her skin became
a burning sea of light.

~

Her skin
the texture of a poem
weeping tender light

~

I long for a poem
I cannot name,
the shape of her lips
uttering my silence.

~

Before him she laid,
a white poem,
an abyss of light
calling him to exist
in the act of spilling
his fervent ink
into her endless landscape,
writing her into
the expanse of his silence,
folding her and becoming
an ocean in her love.

~

He writes
and on the blank page
sees her unfolding,
hills, valleys, mountains,
a primal earth birthing him,
setting him free.

Free Verse # 261 (in the warm tea your lips and mine)

Along her skin
his kisses,
a trail of jasmines
flooding into ecstasy,
a sea of silence
reflecting the moon.

~

His poem
upon her lips bled
into a faint whisper,
a flame writhing
with dawn’s soft passion,
into her being sighing
a silent prayer,
an incense burning
with the longing for eternity.

~

Before her eyes
I stopped to wonder
and before I knew it
the moment lapsed
into the sea of eternity

~

Mer ultime,
dans l’arôme de ses lèvres
un jardin à fleurs rouge.

~

In the warm tea
I feel your lips and mine
tangled in a melting dance,
honey and ginger
burning in our throats
the sweet cadence of ecstasy.

Free Verse # 247 (hecatomb of desire)

Reaping my sighs
on the altar on her absence,
sharp the moon’s sickle
in the sea of dawn.

~

Hecatomb of desire,
caught in her scent
a thousand flowers
melting to the floor.

~

The sea at dawn,
a peaceful child
lulled on the bosom
of his tender mother.

~

In the garden
where silence
is flower and fruit
for her I wait,
my heart against her lips
weeping to be the dawning sun,
the cup of sacred wine.

~

Dawn’s breathless shiver,
upon my cheeks
the dew of silence.

~

Wielding your breath
as though it were a flame
you burned all my poems
then into the ash wept
a sacred tear and lo!
my heart in dawn’s sky
a secret garden.

~

Under his fingers
her skin quivered
as the surface of the sea,
leaving him drenched
in salt and foam
and a yearning to sail
for eternity.

~

Drenched in his breath
the layers of her heart
he slowly peeled,
revealing the silence
vibrant at the core
of fluxing life.

~

The gray of dawn was an ashen cloak beneath which she hid a thousand burning suns.

~

Thirsting for your sea ~ my dewdrop heart.

In Her Hidden Sky

In her most solitary hour,
In the night’s darkness
When her soul opens up
Like a fathomless abyss
I want to be the northern star
Shining upon her hidden sky,
A secret thought
With infinite warmth
Inside of her welling
To rise up from upon her lips
Warmer than the sun,
Through the flush of her skin
A breath more intimate
Than the wine and its own redness,
Than the sea and the cadence
Of its endless waves.

Free Verse # 221 (writing you; writing me — the ineffable source)

Writing
I feel your hand in mine,
Then the poem completes itself
As in me you become
The ineffable silence,
The very breath of life.

~

In this love for you
What of me remained?
Nothing but a poem
Unfolding in your palms,
Words weaved with light.

~

Wrought by starlight
your poem fell
like a pair of eyelids
over my aching eyes,
blinding me to all
save for your light.

~

I could forget your face if I entrust it to a poem; so I rather forget the poem, leave it unwritten, and within me keep your face, forevermore, unto my last breath, alive and growing, shining like a fountain of endless grace.

~

The eyes have a language words cannot touch.

~

Clouds ~ these eternal wanderers roaming through the desert sky.

~

Strewn amid my poems
rosemary and basil leaves
grown in the garden of her hair

~

Lavender seeds and jasmine flowers,
basil leaves and rosemary needles,
stars and dewdrops,
wine and candle-flames –
all amid the folds of her dark hair.