I want to hold you closer.
You smell of sandal wood
and earth after a summer shower.
Because I breathe you, I don’t need the air
and I know how it feels to swim through stars.
In the muted night we sing our song.
You give me a midnight choir,
I always bring the rain.
In the sweet summer
below the rusty fasteners of
an old swing I pump the air
with the spindly legs of childhood,
dream my wide eyed dreams of whirling
pathways to the beckoning sun.
My heart leaps at the sight of a brilliant
rainbow and with small fingers I reach up
to swathe its colors over a blue palette sky.
Now I know about life, the real truth of it.
Now I know the swing is just freedom.
You are an ache, a throb,
a tremble in my heart.
The stroke of copper lightening.
I have etched you in my lines,
in margins I’ve swathed you
in resplendent hues of color.
Your voice is a tender quake,
your breath a hive of honey.
I am a gentle tug you barely notice,
a fleeting rain shower on a summer day,
the gentle wave washed upon your shore
where I have tethered my soul to yours.
Across a velvet backdrop
softly glowing slivers
stream across the heavens,
tapers of candles that wax and wane
with the out-breath of sighs.
In a spectrum they plummet
streaking through darkness to
vanish over mountains or
plunge in to the sea.
You and I are stars,
tumbling spheres of unrest.
Stellar shards held hostage to
the moon until the heat of night
inflames our primal hearts.
be the fire.
art by Karol Bak
Near the wharf I sit on the damp wall and sip my drink, let my mind slide into a slippery salamander of sea. The moon is a glistening slice of neon, her whisper carries on the wind, “moon child I love you too”. Sinking further in I watch a velvet Osprey swoop my reflection from the silver waves where the sighs of lovers are lost in a monsoon. Old images flicker across my frontal lobe as I liberate sip by sip. That man with the golden veins doesn’t interest me anymore. Maybe later when my pearl skinned body breaks the surface I’ll bring him back again.
Photo by Westergren