My love, for it conforms to the dimple of your face.
Your eyelid and your nose.
Your tempered lips that purse unknowingly,
Discovering encouraging and soothing.
Where my head it lay, upon your bosom and in your heart,
It doubles over and your strings content to admit to acceptance.
And your face buries again behind the jet walls of morrow,
Where it sleeps but remembers the bruises and the pain.
Your soul said to you--"forget what you have told yourself."
And you, in your attempt to abide fall forward.
To be caught. To be held. Lovingly. Tirelessly.
My heart is the child of your bosom and it beats for you as if it were yours.
And my throat tight with air,
And my chest congealed with what spirits have left it.
And your eyes that see the sun and your sun.
And the wind that tugs at you with it's fingers
And marks you like the tiger, and the lion, and the wild cat you have obtained.
Abstained. Kept for yourself, eating and wetting. Domesticating. Preserving for the coarse and agonizing climax that has cried.
With quivering lips it has pressed solid down against your neck, your chin and your brow.
With sweated fingers it has ran them across your chest and your scars and your phallus.
And Orion's Belt has blessed you.
Even if the God does not exist.
Even if I have not met him.
Even if I have not let him in.
Even if the God that the world speaks of is real, I have known him.
I have known him because we are one.
He is in the air I breathe,
He is in the words I speak,
He is but an essence of what he is.
He is homely, and dark, and gorgeous.
And informally I pray for you.
Informally, I confess my love again.
I gesture the childlike notion of running water.
I present a wager for the betting man.
I challenge the bishop and take his knighthood.
I cross your path because I mean to.
I love you because I want to.
And confess again
And confide again
And cherish again
And conform again.
This is bonafide.
This effervescent feeling.
This discourse and course of your path.
Of our paths.
I will meet you when you're ready.
Your eyelid and your nose.
Your tempered lips that purse unknowingly,
Discovering encouraging and soothing.
Where my head it lay, upon your bosom and in your heart,
It doubles over and your strings content to admit to acceptance.
And your face buries again behind the jet walls of morrow,
Where it sleeps but remembers the bruises and the pain.
Your soul said to you--"forget what you have told yourself."
And you, in your attempt to abide fall forward.
To be caught. To be held. Lovingly. Tirelessly.
My heart is the child of your bosom and it beats for you as if it were yours.
And my throat tight with air,
And my chest congealed with what spirits have left it.
And your eyes that see the sun and your sun.
And the wind that tugs at you with it's fingers
And marks you like the tiger, and the lion, and the wild cat you have obtained.
Abstained. Kept for yourself, eating and wetting. Domesticating. Preserving for the coarse and agonizing climax that has cried.
With quivering lips it has pressed solid down against your neck, your chin and your brow.
With sweated fingers it has ran them across your chest and your scars and your phallus.
And Orion's Belt has blessed you.
Even if the God does not exist.
Even if I have not met him.
Even if I have not let him in.
Even if the God that the world speaks of is real, I have known him.
I have known him because we are one.
He is in the air I breathe,
He is in the words I speak,
He is but an essence of what he is.
He is homely, and dark, and gorgeous.
And informally I pray for you.
Informally, I confess my love again.
I gesture the childlike notion of running water.
I present a wager for the betting man.
I challenge the bishop and take his knighthood.
I cross your path because I mean to.
I love you because I want to.
And confess again
And confide again
And cherish again
And conform again.
This is bonafide.
This effervescent feeling.
This discourse and course of your path.
Of our paths.
I will meet you when you're ready.
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