Love Beyond The Rules
I went back in time amidst the flowers
that crumble upon touch to understand
a minute's worth of oblivion.
Gathering clouds in the sky set off
lightning that kissed the distance
bringing rain and vapor that fused every
cell in my body.
The perpetual tempo of the battering
thunder materialized as memories of us
echoed through my system.
What kind of liaison were we that explored
love beyond the rules?
As I lay beneath your arms, predator-sleeked,
the swirling sand of the surf siphons
the protective barrier of my thighs and I feel
the median between lust and love come alive.
Moisture is all around us. Your sweat drips
between my legs, creating a salty warm stream
that serves as lubricant.
The heat of your breath suffocates my
consciousness as you slide in harder against
me, conflicted, but oh so certain that you
render my thoughts invalid.
I gaze at the hazel of your eyes shimmering
in the moonlight and I am spellbound as you
cup my voluptuous breasts feeding your
famished carmine-stroked lips with sweet agony.
I hold your rhythm as my hips lift to meet
each one of your thrusts, until your moans radiate
through my soul, until we reach the zenith
of our celestial bodies, until our sex becomes
an aberration.
No words are needed. No useless punctuation
to mark the barrenness that has been extinguished.
Instead you play with my tousled hair and revile
me for thinking you are gone.
On the beach I find the etchings of a balloon
upon a filmy rock. And I wonder where its creator
went. Me, this simple woman, alone in the storm,
owner of oblivion.
Perpetual Motion
The leaves outside sway lightly
and I’m reminded of the beautiful
way you danced in that purple gown,
the one that caught the shimmer of
the low moon, sketching the evening’s
rendezvous with brilliant white demons
that reflected ceaselessly upon your
brown eyes.
When night comes on, gently, like
this, I can dream once again. The
background fades into someone else’s
face, someone else’s snapshot, left
in the darkness of perpetual motion,
where the timing of independent objects
renders space helpless to the simplicity
of casual memory.
For a moment, it seems like a breeze
turning back the pages of an open book,
a diary of sorts perhaps, that precipitates
the climate of a collective past with
little nudges of enthusiasm, meaningful
only to those who know the vacancy of
an assimilated state; refining it back to
a lie, shadowed and invisible.
I see myself the way I used to be, when
your love fed my inspiration at random,
locking into place meaningful sketches
that were nondescript, secretive, yet
poetically universal in their mystery.
Sometimes the momentum of conviction
can bring about nostalgia, ignoring the
apparent.
The night’s wind self-propels the blind,
and in its inertia fails to acknowledge
truth, but the sun makes its way across
the distance nonetheless, flickering over
twilight with no fixed point, marking
the blueprint where blackness lay,
insignificant to the wisdom of wanting
action. It is here where you slowly start
To disappear, as I awaken, and walk away.
Breathing You
Looking back,
I can smell miles of yucca, and meat
grilled on mesquite coals. The road
is a cobblestone walkway, where your
tender words flesh together surreal
visions that caress the palms of my
hands, with the wet beads of a window’s
reflection.
There’s familiarity in your touch, and I
taste the emotional as it begs for my
kisses, with open swells of sweet raw sex
inhaled; butterscotch drips from your lips,
trembling inevitably, caught in the spirit,
and blessed to feel. Soft music eases
though incense,
you scream pleasure, making art in the
moment, searching, and finding those scenes
of fucking fantasies that had Anais Nin and
Henry Miller contagious in desire; out
of control. Erotica is plastered all over your
face; scapegoat to warm blood surfacing,
staining.
You aim to pacify between the slips of
rhythm and breathing changes, leaving me
in the firestorm of the unstoppable, as
my voice stutters in unison with yours,
impatient over the moans, where not a
single coherent thought runs through the
parameters of our minds.
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