O, an obsidian eye peering into the depths of my infinity The pink of U the aroused blush on my tongue— moist and turgid I, a bridge into places— blue and willowy surrendering to an unknown sky Red A, a pyramid of delight— you are reckless, bloody and without fear E, you come to me,…
a wound begging to be touched
and healed
A voice keeps whispering, “Let the miracle happen.” So I am. And it is. I’m starting to believe in myself again. And the hurt has transformed into acceptance and wisdom. I see the road ahead of me again. And I see the blank canvas as exciting instead of overwhelming. The voices that have told me…
“Inside this river there is a moon which is not a reflection. From the river bottom the moon speaks. I travel in continuous conversation with the river as it goes. Whatever is above and seemingly outside this river is actually in it. Merge with it, in here or out there, as you please. This is…
oh! the uncontainable luxury of a spacious saturday morning as we stretched out on your bed limbs entangled skin to skin we spoke of the spaciousness of the land of man’s need to contain it and the earth’s persistence in asserting herself i– drew a pattern on your beautiful back to illustrate a river’s path…
within the burgeoning spring the wind blows fiercely living things are wrenched apart