22 December 2011

Spirituality: Shiva’s Supplication

I awoke this morning
From a dream which is the reality of you.
I have thought you across this Universe
With Gravity and stars like words;
I who destroy atmospheres, dissolve in Yours.
I wrap Myself in incense,
Burning this jasmine to draw You near to Me.
Though I have Power, though I am Power,
I am powerless against Your density.
This lust is systematic.
I am God, yet I worship You.

I kneel before You in ecstacy
Pulse racing as I raise My head
To give My supplications.
This is communion sweet;
Your honey-flesh is spiced with exoticness,
Sweeter than starlight,
Hotter than stars themselves.
I stand, free of all adornment
Feeling Your essence surround Me,
My face wet with Your first blessing.                      

I take You slowly from vertical.
Your temple welcoming Me,
Knowing I am praise-full for You,
Knowing I am ready to worship.
I float in Your mathematics,
At the dawn of understanding.
And as My wisdom deepens,
Your rhythm undoes me, pulls forth My                   
Prayers like magnetism
And You receive them like wine.                                                           
This lust is systematic.

Your knowledge is so fundamental,
So pure.
In the thousand years ‘til tomorrow,
I lose Myself in Your eyes, flashing
Above lips red and full,
Moist with secrets.

18 December 2011


On these never-summer nights, when the air of my life
Forms clouds that hover about me,
I raise my arms to distant chips of bitter ice knowing only
That somewhere, under this uncordial mantle, you are;
Even though those dark, sweet hours when it was
Your hand that I held by this very frosted moon are forever lost.
My soul is one with this winter night.
This ice that kisses me when the wind blows is enough,
It burns my shadowed face like your kisses never will again.
But still, my tears should not freeze to my face-
Each day I spend without you is cold enough without the mockery of winter.
So I lay me down, under a diamond blanket, to rest at last
Wondering now and ever more, by what storm came you here. 

13 December 2011

In The Deep Purple Bliss

We are not children of the sun,
not us, not in this incarnation.
We are the dancing stillness of the night.
And when moonlight touches us,
And my arms find your body within,
I hear your name whispered in bliss,
Flowing from my lips to your heart.
This is when I am a Man;
When I am reflected in your eyes,
When your atmosphere swirls around me,
When we touch each other without touching,
Standing in harmony under stars’ regard,
This is when I am a Man.

Seeking the deep purple time,
When removed we are from sunlight’s weight
And I may enter you presence unfettered,
Measured not by cosmic dimensions, there at the door to night,
We rush head long through the steel hours,
Souls longing as much for eventide
As our hearts long for one another.

We are the dancing stillness of the night,
Having shrugged free of summer days,
And it is to you I turn,
To the one I love,
To share chilled moonlight by the glassful,
To know Love.
I live in your eyes here,
In the darkened midnight hours,
When no other eyes touch us,
When your smile is all the moon I’ll ever need
Then, and only then,
Carried by African drums and space-age times,
Do I live.
I was made to Love you.

We are not of the days,
Bathing each other in late breezes,
And we feed each other every second of darkness,
Eating our nights together with all our souls
Because too soon even the stars fade.
Each hour nourished by your smile is another endless night,

Another passionate dusk to sustain me,
When darkness fades and I am
Tortured by Hyperion’s gaze
And distance from you.
Knowing I will hold you tight again,
When the deep purple falls
And I live in your Love;
Where the night is so easy to remember
And so, so hard to forget.

fin del año

“I had not known the sudden loneliness of having it vanish,the moon in the sky of dawn.”
                                                      -The Tale of Genji

This is the death of the year,
These last, precious days when
All my world is the silence of snow
And memories of you, slow as if covered by ice.
These are the last days of my recollections,
The final thoughts of late kisses and midnight dreams.
Every day, all hours, each second that passes
Burns you indelibly onto my soul
With a heat the ice of this world never cools,
Just this cognac shall never warm me
As fully or as completely as you.
These are the last hours,
Soon what I am shall be no more;
The substance of these words less than
The memory of a snowflake while
Nestled in the bosom of June.
I cherish the nights made nutritious by your smile
And I long to regain August while in the heart of winter.
Stretching each hour, always aware of the passing seconds,
I lick the face of my watch to taste the essence
Of the times we spent loving,
Of all the words between us,
Of every passion we ignited,
Every dream we gave birth to.
But this is the death of the year
Spring’s promises and summer’s heat
Gone just as surely as autumn’s leaves,
And your hand gone forever from mine.