L'eau Incubus

I tell you

that you might not believe

what happens

when it is quiet

and I have only your voice.

You tremble

in the great divide,

whisper in ear

that now your hand is mine,

and not to use words but show you light

to part the fog between us in the dark.

So I place your land on arches,

giving pulse to palm

until the visions flow.

Now know

my desire to graze

this lacquered spirit

to your sturdy ship,

buoy weighed on supple shore,

ancient ladder combed to tracing spires

in the sky, harbor, here

these jaded isles,

lips, sirens everywhere-

old newnesses from every side,

wet limerance guiding on

exponential moistness, wind,

salt thumb

inside of cheek and teeth,

I in the air,

and you beneath the breaking waves;

gasping three precious molecules

-I ease your clenching jaws apart-

expel your pleural swell from stream,

force you looseworn things that breathe

til you liven and lungs awake in madness

to receive what once coursed vigorous past my coronaries.

You, I invite,

to extract the divine

and draw upon the host of prophesies

dissolved between my manifold flesh inside.

Four soft layers and a skull beneath

you already surge amid neurites,

Soluble,

synaptic ghost; I lay no claim, but follow

to your throat with aim to nest

in your throbbing jugular.

Soon, in sight of our syncytial wake

this sessile form relieves its clinging state

and tides to agony,

ecstatic glee-ic ache;

propelled by thrust

and lull of lunar sway

under curtain, ballast, sea and kale

we dive-

We, so alive, cannot live

when both our heads are under water.

And I, in arms, fall prey to eternity

in the timeless stasis,

the pulse has halted without warning

and we love the death until the morning

caesura builds the body

from the flotsam grains again.

...

...

Cats

For now, the hair of life’s certainty
stands softly on end,
and I know upon waking
it is a day of quiets.

I sit absorbed,
reading, writing,
curled with book and corner
and they come to me,

Quiet and feline
through the dim-bright of the afternoon,
silently through their fingers
my upright stands to meet them,
They are the reminders.

Not alarmed,
I know they do not understand
the reason for their sudden inquisitive nature
-later they might think back on boldness,
about how they were met close
before the impulse could be denied,

But in that moment
they are a shadow of themselves
more sure than body blocking the sun,
the moment a second thrill
less time and space and what the
sense can know,

show me my smallness,
how one we grow,
when through the upheaval
you are the movement settling to grace

and so am I.

One female pads stealthily over
-I see her
pink out the corner of my eye-
leaves off fingers and bends
to plant one kiss warm and solid
at the apex of my cheek
And I think:
Today the wonders are endless.

Today I am a child in the eyes of it all.

…