What is real?
This hand I hold up in the dark
is Your mirror
I see You as real as light.
I am naked
You are naked
but whether there is less
or more of me--I cannot say.
This body is as real as Your breath
this flesh as empty as my hands
but I hold You
I feel Your desire to be held.
I tremble where You reach.
What is my heart saying?
Does it chime Your presence
or mine?
What reality clasps me to its breast
afraid to speak
least one of us is missing?
I lift Your dress
with words and poetry
but Your nails rip my soul
to shreds.
Why do you say Yourself
so rapturously in me?
Your limbs grip,
Your mouth crushes essence
into wine
as we both struggle together
wanting to speak beyond two
but failing even
to speak for ourselves.
If I or You are unreal
who moans to be killed
or brought to a climax
like meat to the fire?
Who calls my name
so sweetly
as if it were
the very taste of love?
