Tuesday, June 02, 2009

the fire.

with fingers slipping
you catch me,
i am mid-air,
balancing the act,
between presence
somewhere...

how did we meet?
upon the sacred shrine?
was it you or i
that held great fervor
in the vestal fire?

lost caves
brought shoulder to skin,
hiccuping oceans,
the sea in your eyes.

in the dawn,
the women spoke
blood red roses,
their painful lips,
and crowned gold,
as they chant
the sound of the muse,
she awaits.

burnt upon sage gardens,
made solid into silk,
daughters, breast upon breast,
spinning, milking,
in toxic in all our love,
how the torn bird weeps.

with warmth,
you embrace,
it brings me close,
to silence.

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i am constantly in the state of becoming.