Light’s audacity continues to amaze me.
It stands still and stands for, senseless, mute,
immobile, resolute. Who could question passion’s
stills, desire’s shuttering, love’s stilling click?
Its baleful peer pierces moment’s shadow, exposes
my life within his spine’s juices, waves in his life
developing my fears and hopes. He envelops me
as I envelop him, deeps first, shallows last,
thermocline broken only at hunger’s fast subside.
I am in love with this girl who goes offering —
with this still life floating in troughs of tidepools spent.
Tag Archives: passion
The Dark Room
sex with you is absence
Your skin circles my breast as our breath flows
downhill. There remains naught but residue
from our coupling, bright browns and sterling greys,
raised squiggles of passion and bent depressions
of moisture. I have considered death before,
looked into its void, smelled its sour fear,
yet nothing but your thighs locked and loaded
can drag me beneath its spell. Because sex
with you is absence. It is loss, submission,
regression, withdrawal from the conscious and
immersion in the starred splendors of forked
nights, burnt portals and thrice-prong’d cries.
Alone I stand in a bed black as the sun,
your absence a shimmering wave of denial.
Tannin and Mocha
crinkled squints evaporate
in swirls of tannin and mocha:
roll, roll, squeeze
puff...
palabras eviscerate the air---
daggers blunt with passion. continue reading
alaintodd 