I am touched
by a storm
the tongue of a
fire that burns
A tide crashing
into millions of
becoming the sun.
My heart is ripe
like summer fruit
sweet juices flushing
There is a storm circling
the pit of my stomach rising
to ache in my throat.
Steve Hanks art
Nights while you sleep
my lips are so close I can
draw your breath in like an
infant at its mother’s breast.
I run my fingers down the curve
of your spine lean in to breathe
your smokey scent.
I have entered that golden part of you
immersed the sea that claimed me in
oceans of fiery sunsets.
When our hearts grow mute we will know
we have drifted too near the sun
art by Karol Bak
Insects large and small flit
through the lemony filter of dense canopies.
In hushed whispers we point to a clearing
where a roe fawn nibbles at pine needles.
Clouds soft as cotton brush the crowns of ancient trees
below a hanging mist clings to blonde foothills.
You pluck a marigold to tuck behind my ear
your golden hand print left on my thigh.
I wind a garland of leaves around your wrist
close enough to run my fingers through your hair
carry your scent back home with me.
Deborah Gryka “Turtle Woods”
On sleepless nights
I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels
My Eyelids heavy with smoky glitter.
Among the art I find you
your essence pierces my veins
settles in the pool of my heart
soft lights flicker their last warning in the sad cafe where
like willows we sway to long forgotten love songs
then you are gone a Modigliani reclining never hearing
Je t’aime the only French I know.
Mark Spain Art
“Je t’aime, Je t’aime
Comme un fou, comme un soldat
Comme une star de cinéma
Je t’aime, je t’aime
Comme un loup, comme un roi
Comme un homme que je ne suis pas
Tu vois, je t’aime comme ça”
There are days shadows course
through me like a breeze,
pressing deep into my life line and
the air is the scent of a stale satin pillow
where I refuse to lay my head.
I don’t fear those intrepid ghosts,
I embrace and release them with
failed gravity or the force that once
held the cupped hand of my lover.
The sky was alive then with every shade of
blue and the clarity of Windsor eyes
where I longed for space.
Desire is a stranger, a lethal dose,
encountered beneath a sacred mound.
art by Laura Makabresku
Most of us have experienced it.
Unrelenting obsession that defies reason.
Denying its existence we shut down
its pathway, deprive it of oxygen,
shiver in the dark only to discover
it thrives on the night beneath
translucent veils that ignite
and inflame the fire of desire.
Between sleep and wake we
fall like stones into a silent lake
traversing birth and mortality.
Water pearls drop from unfastened palms
tiny moons slipping through fingers.
Deeper I find you in the iris of cat eyes,
not your spirit or rose tinged snow but
flesh and bone and sinew whose sigh is
an ancient strophe where we do not die
but flourish with the sprouting seeds.