Saturday, June 9, 2012

I am the house of Love. The air moves

I am the house of Love. The air moves
about me, the player then moves His fingers
in a pattern, my body vibrates
as a music in a greater symphony.

Her legs were clear thoughts and the water
flowed over their surface in beads,
topaz, ruby, I saw her breast a pyramid
heaving above textured clouds of sand.

Through my nostrils I draw a fragrance
of folds, pollen, earthy hair that veils
her halls and doors of tears. Her doe-eyes

pierce my heart, establish the object
of my life as a recitation
and remembrance of her subtle form.

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