Night wings over night tides.
A gloss and sheen
of an inner radiance
much deeper than dark.
She is the world
behind the seen
yet She is seen behind
the world.
The Black Madonna
is soaring
and Her feathered silence
will deafen all memory
of what has been.
She lifts you
into a shinning darkness
up up up
until you are
Her starry vision.
She is the Mother of Radiance.
You are taken
and before you can
laugh or cry
you have forgotten
how to be anything
but Her dark ascencion
Her bright becoming.
You are the dawn in my eyes.
My souls foraging.
The roaring waterfall
of my body.
You are a daylight visitation
of our awakened heart.
I am dug out of You
and hollowed into presence.
Sometimes I touch that light
that is Your desire to be me
and I fall from
our identical image
like a shadow.
Every cell bursts into prayer.
All my little birds are howling.
Nerve endings are mouths for kisses.
Hunting in the dark we pull apart light.
You sit down in me.
You use these upturned hands
to overturn bowls of desire.
I am an nzyme
in Your chemical reaction.
We need this fusion
this dissolving.
Without a raw co-dependence
vision and feeling cannot merge.
When a plane dives into the ground
the earth buries it.
The force of the crash pulls off the wings
the fuselage splits open
people spill out already dead.
When passion crashes
the blood continues to dance.
We spill out
as ghosts of bliss
and seeds of lust.
The Beloved is wide open
wrists tied, hips hoisted up
into my deep breath.
Touchstones change what touch them.
I am water running over Her lava.
Ghost-forms melt in hot butter
desires kiss themselves.
We dance, not together
but as flames do
pouring out of the same presence.
Speaking from
the same yearning mouth.
Tangled into intimacy.
I am a car wreck
happening on a ghost road.
The wetness of nocturnal flowers.
My legs are fountains.
for the visions of my tongue.
What lamb bleats in the blood
to be sacrificed to Your beauty?
Why does my spine
breathe fire like a dragon?
I am Your secret.
What we do together
no one should talk of.
I am a shock-wave.
I will learn to speak
the deep water language
of annihilation
one tsunami at a time.
Blind roots awaken
and look for buds.
I am an earthworm
a serpent of mud.
I dare not go out
I am a werewolf eating the sky.
How do you want me?
Shall I stand just so?
Shall I lay down?
Shall I rub myself against You
like a cat?
Please don’t look at these words
they are raw with hunger.
O You just did me!
I look out now
seeing nothing but blood
licking itself.
We are mouth to mouth
like an oral tradition of desire.
You part your flesh
creating clefts and hollows
for prayers.
My hands are full of you
I keep wanting to kiss them.
I bear you like a pregnant woman.
I am a place where lips part .
Your blood is moist in my soul
where the carnage of revelation
speaks.
In Your flesh
I have a body,
a spiral shell of thirst
in that isthmus and delta
I am consumed.
I keep looking at You
and that focus is everywhere.
I am Your lust to be revealed.
I would be dry cinders
if Your fire were not so sexual.
I want You for myself alone.
I am turning into green energy
the impulsion that shatters buds
into suns for just one instant.
Living and dying is easy
making love to Your absence
is the miracle here.
My religion is
a shattering emptiness.
Like the poppy
I need Her rough handling,
my heart is red for flights.
Words run away naked
and windblown
not to seed any theory
but to scatter all thought.
I am a bloodstained silence.
I am a burst open
flower of the formless.
In such moments
one bloom falling apart
will destroy any religion
except love.
When Your fingertips
become pure devotion
She will come to you half-dressed
like hands for your thoughts.
Nothing prepares you
for that deep touch.
Your skin suddenly knows
it can see and hear the light.
The sensation is not felt
it is feeling.
You are a prairie flower
eating the sun
to become starlight.
Last night
I was burning
burning
burning.
I thought I would
never get to sleep,
never wake up.
Red lips
pulled apart
red mouths
to form circles.
Eventually, I fell
as thin as smoke
into one of those
openings.
You kept
breathing into me
glowing me
in and out.
I burned there
until the dawn
circled my
tapering life
with its round
full womb of light.
Hands and breath embrace You
in that desperate and gentle way
flowers cup the sky.
You are above and below me
like the sun in water.
You whose body I wear
like a memento
You who are blood-soaked
by my wound.
I am sap in the stem.
I am urgent
compelled into passion
into that crimson cup
you offer
all Your dark flowers.
She is familiar
like a distant image of yourself.
You look back
through a relationship
that began in Her eyes.
She appears
as a mirror of all the people
you have managed to avoid.
She becomes more familiar
the more you make love to Her.
You have less and less to say
while Her hand writes you.
Painting: By the Water by Lauren Perkins
www.laurenperkins.com.au/.../bythewatersmall.jpg
We tossed and turned
the surf of nearness
too close to a far shore.
Seagulls screamed
to be fed
Otters rolled sensuously.
The Goddess
cracked open Her mirror.
I fell out of myself
to be Her moonlight.
I did not dance a step
but was buried and hatched
in a tumbledown sky.
She took Her time with me.
I took a long breath
under that place
where love paints its face.
A dance
in the anti-chamber of dawn.
Goddess and man:
A two handed finger-painting
of one image.
Sexual encounters
between deities
are too deep to appear.
The bloom moves beyond the flower.
Darkness melts its face.
Each step taken now
is a precipice
but that is how love moves,
it becomes its own edge.
It must fall further
than the sky can reach.
I invite myself into Her body.
Places where
She is the breathing reality
of every sensation.
She samples my living space
as if it were She
that had moved into me.
We accommodate each other
selecting habitats
and communes of desire.
We enjoy garments of distinction
even as they fall away
from this solitary flame
that can explore
its own light.
She is your being
the way a silk moth is a shirt.
She is your body
the way sap is a forest.
The more you cover yourself
the deeper She is.
You are Her love affair.
Though you say you cannot dance
She waltzes with every atom of you.
Though you say you have no belief
She moves your tongue
like the sea moves an anemone.
It is best to be silent,
to let Her have Her way with you
then you can be the bliss
that looks through Her eyes.
There is a place in-between
your shoulder blades
where the light sings.
Unfold Her modesty there
to be Her arc of passion.
Come to Her
with blooms on your fingertips
and nothing in your heart.
She will
take that “nothing”
shaping it into a feeling
that you know to be love.
A love that will scratch your back
or bruise you
with its eagerness
to be your life.
We have interludes
the dance goes on
but it is spacious
with the primal vowels
of breathtaking moments.
When we both grapple
for the same root of lust
scratches and bruises
become our steps
When we let go of both
the Goddess and the man
there is no dancer
only the roaring silence
of a sky in bloom.
She brings fruits
edible parts of Her passion.
A moist desire
of one longing to be in another.
A consuming space
where substance
is swallowed by absence.
A hollow
in the throat of love
where the proffering
the release and bestowal
merge into succulence.
I almost missed Her
my arms and legs started moving
around a shallow puddle
before they remembered
the depth of Her body.
The Goddess wakes up
in fingers and toes.
The heart must sink upwards
into Her slow passion to be felt.
We are a changing room of now.
I am Her
and every point
on the compass of truth.
The little bones in my ears
are Her mansion.
The guide ropes
and platforms of being
are Her house.
The people are bells
and the echoes of vision,
thunderstorms
encoded into experience;
the natural selection
of cobwebs and rainbows.
Once in a while
(sometimes all at once)
the Goddess will glance out
then all the old landmarks
burst into flame.
A look arrives
on one face
then two.
We become lost together
like birds in a snow storm.
No one can explain this poetry.
One demolishing glimpse
and every window shatters.
Later we reappear
like seals in the sun
wondering who pulled us out
of the sea
to be this ruin of now.
I ride her breath in the day
while She rides me at night.
There are times
when the swell of fusion
becomes wine
then essence overspills
into taste.
I am Her overture
an engagement to be something else.
Sometimes I bawl like a calf
until She takes me somewhere.
We make love
She shows me Her body
crying in the wilderness
and I am that wilderness.
We make love
like lost children.
I breathe Her where She leaps
Her deep hands
moving under the surface
birthing waves.
We are the running hooves of mortality
riding the wind bareback.
Until you spoke
words were blindfish.
I see now that desire
has thousands of petals
that open
in the language of flowering.
Love can speak from any direction
and still be the one who listens.
You were a burning darkness
a fictional tale
in a lexicon of opacity.
Until Your blooms became sound
my eyes had not uttered a word.
We talk in openings
in vestibules of silence
whispering thresholds
anywhere
where the space between us
needs a language.
I have learned
to write poetry with my skin
small gospels of love
with my blood.
Your blushed trembling
is an utterance
for us both.
Our instincts are as compliant
as dew
as keen as hunting lions.
A devoted sparrow
becomes an eagle of adoration.
Clouds become flesh.
Lips become the flavor
of Your charisma
a union we both taste
both kiss.
She offers you
flecks of vision
jewels for your eyes.
She plants coils of nearness.
You want to capture a feeling
but you can only taste the movement.
Her hands cry like the sky
in your body.
She is a ruby flowering
in your sleep-walking bones.
Her full gypsy hips
are teaching you
but what you will learn
even She does not know.
A ruby longing
twists its roots into your being
until you are Her word
made flesh.
A word She has no control of
or cannot comprehend
until you give it back to Her
as Her life and your love.
The Soul of Flower (Chinese Gallery) Xiang We Ren
www.chinajnbook.com/.../artists/xwr_001.htm
