A smoke machine or a swinging thurible/it was hard to see but I lifted up my voice/We've come together over we know not what/A call to prayer, or the last for alcohol/we didn't care;/ We knelt and bowed our heads
--Punch Brothers, Familiarity
I reach for a love
I cannot achieve
I am drawn--
my feet still drag me to the ground,
like two heavy magnets,
drawn like adamant
to what is beneath me,
to what be-earths my skyward-soaring soul.
In this raw bread,
bleeding and bland,
I taste the love I cannot give.
The love I seek is bitter wine,
sweetened by the dry and pecked host.
But I am sinking into
some earthy drink,
a quicksilver potion,
whose fire ripples through my flesh.
I resist halfheartedly,
My thirst is piqued by its spice,
tingling on my lips.
his hot hands roving on my cold skin,
discovering, like Columbus, new worlds:
lands new to the conquistadores,
but natives have always known.
I want the roar of caresses on my face and neck,
the sharp sting of desire cresting from a frothing pleasure.
I want the ocean waves
of tongues and teeth and lips
and noses touching,
washing me over and over and over
wild surf of colliding ocean shelves.
over one another,
turning each world upside down,
trapped in endless, dizzy whirling
until we rise,
gasping from our salty bed--
to catch a mutual breath-- and find
eyes smiling into one another,
the colors of our eyes begin to blend into the other.
My stomach aches for the
the heated dance of hip on hip,
of groin on groin,
the creaks and groans of intimate, eternal warmth.
I want the simpatico pattering
of our synonymous heartbeats,
our thoughts so tuned to th'other,
our bodies make a harmony to the
endless torrent of sea creature words
swimming between us,
schools of self shared at lightning speed.
The laughter and the kisses bleed together--
the priest kisses the chalice.
His kiss so pure and tender,
my hot cheeks burn with shame,
and a desire stirs within me
that my groins cannot claim--
a single pure and holy word.