I.
By the tips of jade and amethyst wings, the membranous
hues of my garnet Muse, I hold on hungry for some new melody, the beat of her
midnight sapphire heart...
How many perfect dreams can we envisage? Scarlet I call
her, chameleon love, now hot in the vein, now cool in the mind. Her hands
become the constant thrumming of wind in my ears, removing me from time.
Winter fades away, office fades away--the keening of
electronics, the fall of another's footsteps, the hard concerns of a real life
melt and run in channels, into the great and thoughtless river crossing the
sun-graced plain. The coarse grains of a real life are smoothed and buried by a
rising tide of sweet, gold grass.
Has it not been one year... Scarlet cuts an artist's nude
form upon the knoll, wide-winged emerald and ruddy. Have I never been stripped
before the sun? The heat could kill but blankets softly, the day becomes a kiln
of soul. Harden, it whispers, then tears of sweat glide intrusively over our
curves. Tighten, tan, and flesh become as stone...
II.
Scarlet, strokes of sun.
I lean against her, the heat of young bones beneath
goddess-flesh. She drinks away the darkness with her lips on my neck. I lean
back, and her legs are all that holds me. Feathers and fingers untie me from
burdens I have never seen. The knots of my body are picked carefully apart, I
am separated and we are bonded, on the banks of the pure and muddy brown river.
She lays my head onto her innocuous sex, and we bathe...
III.
Shadows can keep no quarter in the glare of this
afternoon. I turn my face to lose every sense in the plain of her stomach, the
valley where her navel is crossed by my tongue. My hands, poor but sated pilgrims,
journey toward the hills in the distance and discover her song at the peaks.
Translucent arches, the rainbow-film of her diaphanous
wings, come between the sky and our flesh. My kisses have reaped their fill of
the plain and wander the no-man's land where her legs, impossibly long, meet in
flesh smooth as glass at the joint of one hip. The light from above divides
into the spectrum as her wings, like oiled silk, close above and draw us into a
chrysalis. They shudder in the vaporous heat. A storm builds at their roots.
IV.
We are sealed in her wrapping, joined wherever we can. She
has taken all that she might, of my body within her body, of my kind intention
within her surrender. Our mouths bypass words, our bodies bypass the
formalities of dance. We are mixing. Messages are vibrations lost in our
throats, questions are gentle pushes and pulls. Demands are nails and teeth and
thrusting, and rolling this way we make passionate speeches…
V.
“Never leave me again.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“Then… don’t leave me now.”
“No, not now…”
The golden grass bends once, twice, in a breeze.
“Where will we go?”
“I will fade, you will go back.”
“Must I?”
“Yes. But…”
“But?”
“There is always a next time.”
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