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| photo by David Benedict © |
her poem knew this song
too…
an object fell from heaven
a fiery light, entropy
dark matter and energy
woven unseen womb seas
long count calendars
wave after wave it came
you go, she said
I go for unclean
I went as long
as she afforded me
safety, dangers
comforts and thrills
her undertow and humanity
wore levees and fantasies
flooded and fortified
she said I play
burning free
one of her garter clips
snaps loose silk thin scented
with flowers and iron
she moves slow, at first
forged to magnetic poles
tide-currents and clouds
begin to swim
the aromatic decays
and back for air again
specialty shops
drive eyeless desires
what my nose says
is pull her closer
reach with vigor
my right hand
‘tween her legs
single handed origami
spelling shapes
and mythologies
of please
I cast curling
further in
she says
yes, more
repeatedly
my left arm swings
over her shoulder
cupping a breast
I play maestro
as both hands circle
a counterclockwise
to clockwise done
conducting spun
wet clay waiting
the wheel says
turn time into chance
after chance
I bite down on a spot
where her neck demands
my attention with
a bent leg discipline of cranes
wading the mist for more frogs
in the wee unfurling whispers
of morning, nearing
she murmurs and moans
lifting low mumbles
in the dark room
she says this is my poem
“ play my concertina,
you will find
this kind of love
always knows to recite me”
“tonight”, she says
“excite me
forefinger-crescent
the orbit whorled
whirled world
inside me
make me beg
make me dance
cover me in falling ash
and dead skin”
her painted nails
became candle flicker people
staging every cycle
of water’s surrender
and clenched cotton midnight
onto the walls
to begin the stanza…
“inside every part of me”,
she says, “is quiet ritual time,
molecular diaphragm-soul
bellowing snakes and eggs,
archaeology and starlight,
every single one sings a verse
each of them say carry nothing
you can’t come in heaven with”
she quiets
no words
follow
she repeats
a breathless
scratching
as her chorus
she assigns
my back
a bleeding map
where tomorrow says,
"I’ll call you
to return to
treasure hunting
front and rear
side to side
head to toe
little binds and
the rinds you’ve left
spent on the nightstand"
this is my land of let go
where I bow to grace
with what undresses me
still stained with
her yesterday poem
EJR ©
