Sun on Your Neck.
7/7/04
Sweat is on my back again.
We both sigh as you gracefully guide me in,
then you pant and moan and grab my hand
and I stare through your hair
at the sun on your neck
with the stars and
crescent moon on your back
and the butterfly and flowers caressed
by a matress damp of our sweat
and the sweet aroma of sex.
And then I try and penetrate
the insatiable light
inside your eyes, open wide
and between your legs, divided,
and utter `yes' to life;
to wage a defense
against my pessimistic, paranoid,
nihilistic bent, and
in a moment there's
something about
the dark in this
candle-lit room
something about
the smell of this sex
and nothing but the
pressure of skin
between me and you,
something about
the music in the blissful
convulsions we become
as we're building rythm
until we're one again...
there's something about it all
that helps me approximate sane;
that helps to guide me back to align
with my inner self again,
and I don't want to
have this need or feed it, but it
seems to be the only route to peace,
the only way to some
primitive scerenity --
uninhibited openness
and honesty;
a way for us to strip
ourselves down
much further than
just the skin,
geting ever-closer
to true penetration,
our souls,
then devirginized, both of us
blissfully bleeding.
I saw something
down there in that
sacred space, like a rabbit hole,
the first time it happened
that autumn so long ago
that I'd lost
long before I was born
and I'm back and I'll keep
digging till I find it again,
somewhere in the
diminishing space
between me and you...
and I got closer to it
than I ever have
tonight inside that
candle-lit room
in the blurring boundaires
between me and you:
something that lifted me up,
set me free,
brought me back
as I stared through your hair
as my sweat rained down on that
sun upon your neck...
7/7/04
Sweat is on my back again.
We both sigh as you gracefully guide me in,
then you pant and moan and grab my hand
and I stare through your hair
at the sun on your neck
with the stars and
crescent moon on your back
and the butterfly and flowers caressed
by a matress damp of our sweat
and the sweet aroma of sex.
And then I try and penetrate
the insatiable light
inside your eyes, open wide
and between your legs, divided,
and utter `yes' to life;
to wage a defense
against my pessimistic, paranoid,
nihilistic bent, and
in a moment there's
something about
the dark in this
candle-lit room
something about
the smell of this sex
and nothing but the
pressure of skin
between me and you,
something about
the music in the blissful
convulsions we become
as we're building rythm
until we're one again...
there's something about it all
that helps me approximate sane;
that helps to guide me back to align
with my inner self again,
and I don't want to
have this need or feed it, but it
seems to be the only route to peace,
the only way to some
primitive scerenity --
uninhibited openness
and honesty;
a way for us to strip
ourselves down
much further than
just the skin,
geting ever-closer
to true penetration,
our souls,
then devirginized, both of us
blissfully bleeding.
I saw something
down there in that
sacred space, like a rabbit hole,
the first time it happened
that autumn so long ago
that I'd lost
long before I was born
and I'm back and I'll keep
digging till I find it again,
somewhere in the
diminishing space
between me and you...
and I got closer to it
than I ever have
tonight inside that
candle-lit room
in the blurring boundaires
between me and you:
something that lifted me up,
set me free,
brought me back
as I stared through your hair
as my sweat rained down on that
sun upon your neck...
