Presence

The weight of the Goddess is in me
Her warmth is inside the inside
Where there is no “inside.”

What is She?
She is a thought of form,
An urge to go inside
Where my eyes
Go blind in Hers.

Where is She?
I hold Her at night
I carry Her
Like a hungry child
In my belly.

Joy and light
Joy and light
Joy and light

But also a dark radiance
A breath shining in my breath darkly.

This wanting
This urge to sink
My teeth into Her blood
And taste
Her eternal need
For me, myself.

She Comes to Me in Waves

She comes to me in waves
yet like the sea itself
Her salt is in me always.

She comes for me
Her body convulsing,
wanting my presence
inside of Her
as if I were really someone.

I know, at times,
She holds me at arm’s length
just to look at me,
I know She likes
to play the game of two
but

when She comes for me
like a wave of myself
I feel the crest
of this world
topple
into Her.

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A Golden Prayer

The Goddess

is not any woman

She is: Woman.

When She dances

you become

a flower in Her heart

and a bloom between

Her legs.

If you dare to love Her-

want Her,

She will

turn your lust

into a golden prayer.

Dawn Voice

Did you hear what the light said?
Did you hear the breeze
shake old stars out of new trees?

The Goddess speaks
and words become birds
birds become sky-
the sky becomes an auditorium
for whispers of the heart.

She runs ankle deep
through a drowsy promise.
Her voice a flicker
of small white moths.

Do you now hear Her
rolling this world around
like a drunk
inside a drop
of morning dew?

Make Me Real

I found You one day

on the tip of my tongue

on the fine hairs

of the back of my hands,

on the margin

of what can be heard and seen.

"Make Me real" You said.

"Make Me your love."

And I did.

I pulled You into me

through the flesh of my words,

through the subtle channels

of every hair on my body.

I consumed You like air.

Drank You like wine.

No scripture has written of this

but each moment

my spirit composes You.

You enter through the endless

doors and windows of being.

Sometimes You come through

the dancing molecules of self,

sometimes just as light

through a crumbling wall.

"Make Me Real" You said.

Each day our poetry

surfaces above

the skin of the world

as real as any sunrise.

Instants

You cried out

as we came together.

It is not that you come and go

but some instants

are closer than blood and flesh

closer than breath

closer than sexual union.

Sometimes I find you

on the tip of a finger

or in the plasma of being

You emerge as a part of myself

drowning in a part of You.

Some call these moments, bliss

I don't name them

but when they rage up

like sap, upwards

through the stalk of life-

when mind falls wordlessly

into Your eyes

You so expertly catch hold

of what is left.

Doors & Openings

I have dropped my guard
I do not even
open doors for You.

You are the door
and I am the opening
and even though this is the wrong way round
I can’t see an inside or an outside
so both ways are the same.

What’s the use of yoga?
What’s the use of meditation?
I have one position to practice
and that is to be the flow of Your heart.

I have let my guard down.
Raised hands only get in the way
of Your fingers
and my movement in them.

Your Beauty

Your beauty
pulls minds like babes
out of each grain of sand.
It conditions flowers to bleed light.
It dances in the blood
where every cell is a shoe
for Your steps.

I don’t think I am You
I don’t think of You or I.
I feel.
I feel the breath of Your beauty.
I feel the lightness of Your flowers
opening under my skin
where the void arises.

You are not a thing to paint
or to compare.
Your beauty
is a flare of radiance,
a glimmer
only the heart can see
or remember
as the eyes dream.

Waves

Mutual waves tumble together
breaking open
the way water breaks open
into itself.

I have nothing of my own anymore
unless one can claim
this surf and tide of passion.

Pillers and eddies of lust
have no name.

The ocean has no eyes
but knows every molecule
to be itself.

Body Reading

We don’t sneak up on each other now.
This passion
is a slow dance
in the heat of a moment.

I know what You are saying
because I speak with Your hands.
I am that part of You
that lip-reads flesh.

I carry
the scent of desire
on Your fingertips.

Morning Goddess

A morning
grows out of my eyes.
She sleeps with my heart-
She curls
where my legs part.

If I turn over
I might bruise Her delicate skin.
I might fall in
to Her melting dreams again.

Within my surfacing mind
I watch Her rise
into a silver kimono of light.
I watch Her prepare to bathe
in my life.

Her Speaking Soul

She loves you.
You are a taste upon Her lips.
The afterglow of Her desire,
a memory She relives
as poetry

-try to feel Her
loving you out of yourself
as a word
birthed from
Her speaking Soul.

She Will Come

When your fingertips
become pure devotion.
When your skin
opens its prayer book
She will come to you
half-dressed like your hands.
She will fit the shape
of your longing
like a flower
becomes a glove for the sky.

Image-

Medium: pencil and ash on paper

Artist: Pushkaraj Shirke

The Painter

It is late at night
but I am doing my best
to paint Your picture.
Hands fly away
come back with Your scent.
Eyes go blind
then return as the light
behind Your face.
It is late at night
the fire of the world
is an ember within my breath.
I am painting Your presence
with my body
rolling within the waves
of a single pulse
daubing beautiful suns
onto the darkness.
I am doing my best
to picture You
into a space
that can be held
in the heart
like a portrait of love.

Stars & Fronds

She comes out of the flesh
where a million sea fronds
swim together as a mind.

When the Goddess steps back
into the world to look at you,
you disappear from yourself.

Inside the universe
there are endless stars,
each one is an atom
of consciousness

but when She steps outside
of all there is
what you become
is Her looking-
only Her looking.