New love is always good. Of course time changes that as it should. Stasis is antithetical to time. Eternity attracts according to its own special gravity. It gets sorted out in the end, I think.
THE REST OF IT GOES HERE
Beguiling moonlight and Portland spring and newness dances.
Amid night beer and tears of planets you unhinge your jaw to talk,
And I surge enthused, God-ward with you, somewhere, I guess.
I cannot put a name to your brain’s pretty constellations.
I eat your star-petal syllables, the animal-me is hungry.
I wish to gorge on witch-tits and empathy.
Your eyebrow raises hard questions; I think, labyrinthine, balk.
More drinks are ordered and drank, and there is nervousness.
In cuddling candlelit silence I dream your mouth to mine.
Words do come eventually, but no answers,
But I say yes to your raised eyebrows and yes to your flesh,
The warm Sabbath of your body, and something secret
Beyond words but analogous to peace, and yes to all the rest.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Out of the Howling Tao an Uncanny Goddess Comes
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Labels: mc guimond, poem
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1 comment:
'I cannot put a name to your brain’s pretty constellations.' lovely.
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