| He gave, he gave all of himself holy. How can I describe to you what it felt like to be held? Oh, ethereal... it echoed across the dry earth. And I shook long before the apex of my release. Luminous and wet beneath him, held there steadfast and trembling. His gaze did not waver, not when I turned my head to escape it, this love. To escape the pain it surfaced. The unending heartbreak that a thousand lifetimes could not mend. There was no end to, Our bodies streaked with white ash, as he pushed me deeper into the dust with his sex. We trembled against the marble, against the sands. Wanting to blend further in, wanting to stain. Stain with new blood and white dust alkaline my outline without guilt or regret. Gently, he turned my head back to face him... Slowly, he moved. Slower still, deep within the canal of what was begging to be healed. My eyes met his, and tears released. They fell past my cheek and onto the dry earth beneath us. Hips lifted slightly to meet his motion, and I dug my nails into him, closing quivering eyelids to feel the music between our sex. The movements deepened, it did not quicken. He grasped under my neck and kissed my open mouth, rejoicing in each other's song. I heard us, moans across the canyons gentle and long. I felt us. Legs spread further, moving rhythmically. Together, trust in him finally. To make love, and continue after our peak. To spill the seed deep within the roots of all meant to be holy. I had never heard someone pray to me "I love you" a hundred times with his eyes and embrace. There we lay, stained sacred. Still. Inside. Lips hovering over one another with shuddering sensitivity, Inhale, exhale... Regaining our breath, I felt sweet tears fall on my chest. I looked up to see his eyes wet and expression raw. To taste the salt in his sweat, in his tears. Our scent, our limbs... all of it mixed up. As it was and has been. This unbridled passion, Eros making love, to his Storm, to his sea... tell me how to capture this in poetry. |
1 Comment
val
3/8/2015 07:56:11 pm
I read this and feel the divine dancing; its timing, its shaping, its sameness. The dance of pleasure and pain both in step with the infinite's symbols of drawing in and letting go. A day started with such a rhythmic verse eases feelings of being torn in half; rather now, two arms outstretched soar one into the middle direction of pointed fingers and back into Self. Thank You.
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