Prayers & Gloves

I am curled around You
like a vine

but this sap we
drink from
has no name.

If I go out
into the world today
You will be gloves
for my thoughts.

You will be coated
with my breath
where nothing is seen
without breathing into it.

Later
I will take You home.

We shall
come together
inside a green fountain

with prayers and gloves
that are also hands.

Webs of Light

We wash in the same water
a water that is not apart
from our eyes and ears
and the birth of waves.

We are a frenzy of light.
Movement choreographed
in the chaotic ecstasy
of struggle.

When one molecule of love trembles
connections form fresh tears
to string us together.
I do something with my tongue
that You have taught me
the night spreads open
to wets my lips.

We are a web of light
for limbs to spin
their blood and bones upon.
A drop of Essence
and a thousand flavours of love.

Where Hands Bloom

Hands come together
as You fill that space between
with the heat of intimacy.

My nervous system
is a map of Your body;
a body unknown
until it is felt
in-between
a modeling fire.
Your light demands
to be fed.

You are a
yarn of longing
winding around my hands.
You make
a soul for me

where hands bloom.

robes fall apart

I gasp and awake
feeling You turn over within me.

Robes fall apart
that were woven
with our blood and breath.

For a moment I am bereft
of my senses

only a howl of separation
slaps my head to the pillow.

I cover my heart
with a protecting palm.
I hear You whispering
out of my darkness:

Come bind Me quickly
to your flesh.
Let your hollow bones
be My voice

My life and love.

Trinity

There are gaps
between our fingers
where we hold, not each other
but a lover
we are both faithful to.

This other beloved
looks like our passions
melted over snow.

Rose wine
has been spilt
and it has mingled
with tears
and the breathless gasps
of intimacy.

Our bodies
dream each other
and that dream weaving
has fashioned
a new form to illustrate love.

A persona
that could not
have been created
if we had been only content
with the dance of One.

For Me

She paints Her image
over an infinite landscape
but not for me.

She sculptures light
into obelisks and pyramids
to reflect
an ageless beauty but
not for me.

For me
She enslaves Herself
to be a candle for my flame.

Whatever happens
will happen with us
together

in small bright ways.

Rooms

You follow me through myself
from room to room.
I become
your living space.

Windows look inwards.
A folding intimacy
forms pillows and cushions
of presence.

This mingling cohabitation
makes its own rules
of perspective and design.
The ergonomics of One
can bend light
as well as form.

I hold Your hand
but my fingers slip away
to be You.
Like wind writing on water
movement is our love

our soul.

Shapes

I am a tendon You flex
in the flesh of thought.
Where You lean over me
I become
Your smoothly muscled back.

Of course
You know about my hands
how they are always forming shapes
to hold You
How my mouth
has become
a place for You to dance.

When You move
You turn under me
like satin sheets,
or the suave sleek music
of falling silk .

And did You know
that whenever I speak like this
I know now who
moves these words around?

Rose

Night-doves drive light before them like gauchos.
I breathe through my heart with Your lips
and a hundred fingers dance with flavor.
There is mercy in all that glimmers
a glamour in the dark moist falling apart
of musk and wine.
I bathe where we meet in this rose of passion.
You are cupped like a mouth,
a tangible palpation
of Your longing to be known.
I am the drunken prayer of a wild gaucho
driven by the light
of a softly darkling dove
to the chasm of Your tavern.

Her Milk and Honey

I wake up
in the curl of the night
pushing your breasts into my emptiness.
Buttery lips kiss rosebuds-
my mind blooms red in Your heart.

Sometimes I travel
like unaccompanied luggage
to that hinterland
where Your hands can collect me.

At other times I curl up
in the foetal dampness
of this need
and beg for nipples
to feed my darkness.

Stretching Muscles of Light

You feel a sexual shiver-

an abrasion of shock and delight

as your mind pulls your spine

up into vision like a rainbow.

You have just stretched a muscle of light

and like the arc of a waterfall

you can fly measurelessly

into stillness.

You can reach inwards now

to touch the purple flower,

the trembling stigma

of the Goddess

or you can plunge

like a spear of ecstasy

through the roof

of your heart.

crone

The light is sewing night-gowns for the twilight
It is weaving threads of nakedness together
and now my words
must be shot through with light.
My truth punctured by the unknown,
a radiance of thought beyond thought.
O Holy Night
bringer of comfort and pain
kiss me deep
where my soul can shed
seeds of newness.
For I have been a broken tooth of desire
but my pelt is pliable and whole.
Let the beautiful crone of love
anoint my substance with
new wisdom
for tomorrow's original dawn
shall come begging soon
at my door.

Black Madonna

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.

flight

I am ice,

a meteoric darkness

and starry wisp of soul

slipping in and out

of Your holy fire
but when I turn
my sky to You
I am just flight-
your phoenix
of the moment.

We Share The Same Space

We have finally stopped travelling around each other.

Your wings are a starry flight

of my mind.

My hands are Your thoughts

proof of Your exsistence.

Who shall I pray to?

I can only speak in
in the graceful howls
of all uttering circles.

I am an apartment

for Your soul.

We share the same space.

These eyes I use

are ink wells for Your poems.

Each morning

I wake up

and turn towards You.

I breathe-in

and You come out

of my heart
as Our dearest reality.

Days After

You come out of my nowhere
fully dressed.

For days after
I am stunned
by a form
I cannot remember.

A fish does not know
it is wet.
I have no idea
I am drowned.

I stumble after a memory.
It is not You or I.
It is a blood-red flower
that only appears

when lips are crushed

into appearance.

Mirror

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.

Dancing

We crash through the night
Nothing survives but our hands
which fall upwards
like rain and sky.

I find you
in the grasping
enclosing Your desire
as if it were
an orchid
succulent with light.

You give my hands
a vision
and they plunder
their own sensations
feeling You
dancing naked there.













Keltry - dancing naked by *josemanchado

Seeds

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.

Her Fingers Shape My Voice

Dogs bring us wounds to lick.
You eat from my fingers
to taste Your blood.

Because I am darkly shaped
like a guitar
You keep Your hands
around my neck;
when they move – I speak.

In the Opening
You shape my voice
as Your mouth.
There is a body here
but it is inward like a bud.
If I place a finger
into the unseen
moans become visible.

Love gazes back into itself.
When I push into You
You open my hips
like a door.
My hinges are all broken
since I became Your secret.

Image: Woman with a Blue Guitar.

Sam Yeates.

www.davisgalleryaustin.com/yeates_left_3.html