Landscape

As I hold my pen
her skin under my fingers
stretches into a landscape,
each word I write
spins a little vortex,
a turning Sufi, a small flower,
all spreading across her skin,
spreading like a fire,
dripping into her soul
and coursing deep down,
filling her with more love
than she can understand,
with unbearable gentleness
opening her wide,
opening her to God,
opening her to the sky.

One by one I kiss
the flowers of her skin,
then look into her eyes.

Haiku # 613 | Tanka # 167

Dans la pluie
qui mouille mes lèvres
je goutte ton nom

~

Dans mes mains
je les acquis,
tes cheveux tombant
comme la pluie
de la voute du ciel

~

Imprégnée de rosée
sa peau de fleur respirait
le blanc de la poésie

~

Dans le jardin,
sous le ciel de l’aube,
sa peau de fleur
imprégnée de rosée
respirait la poésie.

~

Laying in the garden
at the break of dawn,
the flower of her skin
soaking in dew
breathed 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 # 369 (touching her isn’t enough)

Preparing the day,
your fragrance
somehow
rubbed against my neck,
you whose face
from a secret window
always shined upon my life.

~

Deserting my eyes
the butterflies of sleep
are fluttering somewhere
following the scent
of the flowers in your skin.

~

Evening wind,
her dark breath
combing the tall trees,
taking desire by the hair
and dragging her down
into the caves
deep in the womb of the sea.

~

Her hips swayed feline
a lioness
wearing the ocean for a mane
and preying on the best
of love and sex,
drinking the finest
of wine and poetry.

~

Touching her isn’t enough; I have to live inside of her and she has to live inside of me.

~

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Photographer unknown

Joined still
when dawn breathed,
a single body
jasmine white
quivering on the breast
of sleep as it heaved.

~

On the altar
of her fragrance
worlds are crushed;
she is a wild flower.

Free Verse # 365 (each dawn at my window)

I want to be for you
what dawn is to the sky

~

Each dawn at my window
the love I’ve never known
the face I’ve never seen

~

I drank her lips like an elixir,
like a flower drinks the light of dawn.

~

Her body
is a sea of flowers
and of the nectar I gather
I give you this poetry

~

From your bank to your bank
my life is nothing but a pilgrimage
from you to you

~

Summer dawn,
your fragrance down my neck
streams in hot beads,
through the thin mist a birdsong
breaks the red sky.

~

Ryuu Rui
Art by Ryuu Rui

You the poem
I the poetry,
my blood in your skin
a transparent calligraphy,
the spread wings of birds
combining the sky.

Free Verse # 353 (this life of poetry)

On the pathways of the world
I lose myself, I find myself,
Always spinning inside of you.

~

At dawn
Your breath strokes my cheek,
And I wake to walk another day
In the beauty of your light,
This life of poetry.

~

Your fragrance
Each morning,
How a flower
Soaked in night’s dew
Aches for the honeyed touch
Of the radiant sun.

~

In the honeycomb of dawn
Our gentle togetherness
A flute weeping silently,
Skin against skin fermenting
A fervent honey
In the open blue mouth,
Filling it to overflow
As the outpour
Showers the earth,
The light of a new day.

~

We met
At the burning seam
Where poetry meets reality
But then the seam disappeared
And there was only poetry.

~

With each inked verse
I bed you,
Poems flowering
In the linings of your skin,
A language undulating erotic
As it binds us,
Poetry…

Free Verse # 350 (shipwrecked amid her thighs)

At night I touch my neck,
feel the nook where your fingers
carved themselves a nest
and a poem of unbearable warmth
suddenly fills my chest,
bursts to flame like a candle
with a tender caress lighting
an immemorial past.

~

His words
kissing her ears,
seashells divulging
the secret of the sea.

~

Poète – c’est celui qui écoute le monde exister avant l’aube de bruit et voix, dans la nuit du cœur-soleil.

~

Sa voix s’étendait
sans limite,
un silence intime
coulant du ciel.

~

In the shadow
of our kiss
the bloom
of silence

~

Even as I die
your shining beauty
full moon in the sky

~

In the forest
we leave the dead
where they fall be,
and watch them in spring
become sighing flowers
and wild birds that sing.

~

Her body
a forest of poetry
pronounced sacred
even before divinity,
into the clear obscure
of her spaces
poets wander
and are lost
unto eternity.

~

The poem I left at night
shipwrecked amid her thighs
at dawn flutters anew
and flows from her eyes

~

Her kiss didn’t come
in a single burst,
like stars in the nightsky
it came strewn
all over my life,
over the course
of a lifetime.

~

His fingers
course her skin,
each trail
a furrow of wine and fire
sinking to her veins,
in the soil of her flesh
growing
the essence of poetry.

Free Verse # 340 (on her lips the full moon)

She held his poem
against her belly,
pressed into her naval
like a fiery seed being sown
in the womb of the earth.

~

On her lips
the full moon
a wild flower

~

Two in appearance; in reality one light, one body, one soul.

~

Wrapped in the silk
of a thousand dawns
she comes to me
and I unwrap her
one dawn at a time,
unfolding
her ineffable essence,
poetry…

~

I’m not a poet
I am a perfume maker,
in the oil of her skin
I dip my brush
then paint her,
a burning fragrance,
poetry.

~

On the nourishment
of your skin I subsist
the way a butterfly
dips and dips
into the heart of the flower,
her tremulous sea of poetry.

~

Of all my yearnings
only one remains…
red flower on her lips

~

In the quiet of my heart
your flower grows…
moon in the night

Free Verse # 337 (witchcraft in her lips)

Into the ashes of the night
she presses her full lips
leaving a trail of aching stars

~

Her stretching spine
a violin-river,
the world dancing
to its quiver,
shivering in ripples
of music and rhyme.

~

Void of your breath
poems are just words,
dust scattered
in the blowing wind.

~

Of existence
all I know is your kiss,
the moon on your lips poised,
the fountainhead of stars.

~

She had witchcraft in her lips
and my poem ached for the sheathing
of their succulent plush

~

Earth of rain and mist
I remember you,
a touch of infinite softness
melting in my skin.

~

Tracing her skin
his fingers etch furrows
of liquid fire,
poems into her bloodstream
weeping
his aching love.

~

On my lips
her breasts
fruits of passion,
a fervent wine.

~

Night waxes
as your body against my own
shivers,
a flame in my blood
weeping
the ache of centuries,
crowning us the flower
of wine and poetry.

~

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Photograph by Ian Ross Pettigrew

In the fire of your eyes
poetry sheds her veils
and enters wordless,
its one desire to live
rooted in your heart.

Free Verse # 335 (the sun of her love)

As the day rolls I think of you,
your violin body
flowing through my own,
a river weeping tunes
of sadness and exquisite joy,
pure poetry.

~

Like wounded water
her body flows

~

I entered her,
a tree taking root
in its aboriginal soil,
its leaves now puddles
of burning blood,
its fruits the harness
of the world’s fires.

~

Over her breasts,
between her thighs
squeezing the moon
into gossamer streams
of poetic sighs,
sodden verses invoking
the sun of her love.

~

In the middle of the night I wake
and call out your name,
my throat a river of burning salt
aching to be balmed
in the warmth of your kiss.

~

He was a city of fog
where poems
like wounded birds
came in to die

~

Her sensuality she carries
like a mane of fire,
the roar of its flames
licking earth and sky,
harnessing all poems
to hang them in its fur
as brilliant stars.

~

Carnelian flame…
her lips staining
the silence of my heart

~

As his tongue
parted her pink petals
her back arched
and her lips sighed
like a sea swallowing the sun
to become the vapour
of eternity

~

She pulled him
against her neck
and the perfume
of her skin and hair
engulfed him,
in his breath
the spray of a sea
older than time itself.

~

I burn for her in a way fire never can.

~

My heart
a quiet corner
where a rose
teeming with your scent
blossoms and grows

~

At her touch
my bruises become
puddles of sky and water
where dawn and blue gardens
blossom and thrive

~

The candle’s flame
gathers my blood
into a nest of ache
fervently waiting
for her blood
to join my own

~

Autumn birds,
their solitary songs
playing in the woods
call us back
into a forgotten intimacy,
a language without words,
a speech of inner vibrancy.

~

Silence hovered about him
like an ashen, gray cloud,
and the hills leading into his world
were shadowy and steep,
clad in rumor and secrecy.

~

Dans ses cheveux
mon souffle
un oiseau étoilé

Free Verse # 334 (cet infini poème)

Autumn leaves
tucked in her brown hair,
flowers strewn
amid the pages of a book,
a forest of perfume
intimately sleeping
in the worded grass.

~

In late autumn
her areolas
are two ripe figs
on my lips bursting
with the liquid heat of summer,
a crimson universe
brimming with stars.

~

On your windowsill
the raindrops gather
in puddles of pitter-patter,
birds of fiery feathers
singing into your room
the voice of my longing.

~

In the misted morning
my thoughts sway to you
like a bare branch shivering
against the gray sky

~

Those patterns coursing
the length of her lips,
little nooks and crannies
at each exhale
molding the air
into sensual poetry.

~

Son corps
une mer étoilée
et moi
un navire enivré
navigant le long
de cet infini poème

~

He placed his mouth on hers
and played her soul like a flute,
her body through its pores weeping
the fires of pure longing.

~

Her lush lips
a suave erotica
wet with red ache
to have his fullness
throbbing inside.

~

On her tongue
my fingers burn,
honed flames
aching to go inside.

~

At dawn you wake,
the imprint
of my hands and lips
all over your body,
an earth soaked
in the dew of longing.