Your Life's Story

forty-four years young
still scribbling your rough draft-
two main characters

Love's Aria

love's aria lifts me,
beauty's melody bourne
on venus's virtuous air.

i'm played like a pipe,
her breath, not mine,

her love on my mouth.
she blowing o'er
my throat's cords,
making low, unearthly music.

Telekinesis

my finger traces
small patterns across her palm-
can she read my mind?

Aneurysm

distended vein swells,
damned by dilating beauty-
brain aneurysm

Prayer

god, pity me now,
the most desolate spirit
possessed by beauty!
my mind melts like paraffin;
her radiance owns my soul.

Embroidery

infinite beauty
wondrously adorns my life;
rainbow on charcoal-
an acre of embroidery
on a postage-stamp canvas

Her Curses

my soulmate loads me
night and day with her curses,
honey always on her lips,
yet i know she loves me.

how?

i equally expend myself
day and night
in perservering longing-
knowing too well
my hopeless love.

But Now

oft, i have strolled near the garden

the fertile fragrance wafted
o'er my insatiate senses
and the honeysuckle
drew the bumblebee from its hive
to silken stamen cup,

her pollen was potent
her nectared petals shimmering saccharine stars
her verdant vines summoning venus,

but now

Perfection

my sensuous soulmate,
goddess of priapus,
voluptuous venus,
nectar of aphrodite,
charming beauty:

God has sculpted you
from a solid block of desire.

in your presence
other women are but shadows;
trembling, envious vacuums.
you are perfection!

Fossil Beetles in Amber

i ransack my mind
for poetry,
finding nothing but matchbox cars
and a piece of frayed string.

my brain has suffocated
in another day's rush and tumble.

a few crinkled words-
notions captured
on faded red and green
accordioned crepe paper,
dehydrated thoughts-
unfurl
dusty verbiage:
glissandi riffs
of separation's purgatory.

notions of your beauty
pleading to be freed-
fossil beetles in amber:
images of sensual perfection.

Op-art

i lay on the first stroke
of color:
a big, wet
hilariously smeary lip-stroke.
after that,
the canvas of your body suggests-
even demands-
i do this or that;
talk about liberal art!

Liquid Morning

in waxing light,
i rock with the motion of morning;
in the cradle of all that is.
i'm roused from half-sleep
by the spectacle of your
silver-tipped beauty,
cries of the sandpiper.
love is my will, and my way,
and my spirit runs, intermittently,
in and out of the rhythmic waves,
runs with the intrepid shorebirds-
how graceful the skitter before beauty's sea!

in the first rays,
all is a sacred scattering,
a shining.

Silver Beauty

my soul aches-
inflamed canker my mind's tongue
ceaselessly fondles-
to caress your silver beauty
with my unrefined lead arms

Sweet Beauty

sweet beauty
invisible mist of
i-
my soul-
o'erlong lovesick,
o'erlong alone:
would your sweet soul bind.
long have i
sought you, hungry,
as to where our souls
might tryst.
my soul, your soul,
go there,
sweet soul;
be kissed.

Smitten

a car-struck mailbox,
tipsy, leaning on moonlight-
my love-smitten heart

Thin Ice

i am so consumed by my soulmate,
so pregnant with her body,
her scents,
her mewls and moans,
her retreats and returns,
so obsessed by our love,
my mind feels like thin ice.

The Sculptor

i am a sculptor,
a molder of words.
everyday i shape
origami idols.
but in your presence
i crumple them
and watch them burn
on the hearth
of your blazing beauty.

i massage stone syllables,
chip love into them.
but when i consider
your voluptuous form,
i grind them into chalky powder
sprinkling them like fertilizer
on your perfumed garden.

You-biquitous

i am certain
of nothing more
than your existence.

a thousand ants
crawling under a log
may find themselves
exposed
in my child-like search

for you.

i am eternally
destroyed
by your love.

i am like a survivor
of a flood
walking through the street
drenched with
god. surprised
that all of the
drowned victims
are still walking
and talking.

maybe there's hope.

i rush to each
memory
sucking what
i can of you
out of your

various incarnations

to touch them
is to touch you.

to kiss them
is to kiss you.

love is an artform
slightly removed
from its element.

the kiss
you kissed
as if you

alone

could forge
the signature
of the sun.

i close my eyes
although
i never know
the difference
i stand before
a brighter light
at lesser

distance.

things blur.
the sun darkens.
river
like oceans
oceans
like answers
questions
in cloud form
raindrops
in stanzas

to be
or not....

to see
or not....

my dreams and reality
blend in
ancient themes

the base is of venus

cross-faded to ankh

your love drops
from a cliff
over-looking
my
heart.

Stone Gargoyle

our bound souls
shift through
hidden corrals
and passageways-
i will find my way
to eternity

within you

when i can feel you
breathing into me
i, like a stone gargoyle
atop some crumbling cathedral,
spring to life
a resuscitated
angel.

Hum

i empty myself
waiting, listening.
there is nothing there.
nothing, except the hum,
discrete, growing, holding,
swaying, being, raining,
flooding, ebbing, standing.
i sense it as a vibration,
a hum, a single chorused note.
this is it:
this hum is the sound of love.
nature does utter a peep-
just this one.
birds and insects,
meadows and swamps,
rivers and stones,
mountains and clouds:
all whisper it.
there is vibrancy.
i wait, i give my life's
length to listening.
the ice rolls up,
the ice rolls back,
and still the single note obtains.
the tension is intolerable.
the hum of love
is not fantasy-
it is all there is.