The heart skips all the least important beats while the head tries hard to keep heaven on its mind. Lips touch, sweat mingles, hands linger with-in the music of skin and fingers. There are moments of bliss, flickers of belief. The ecstatic and the carnal gather their plunder and lead the call, shudders and visions, spills and thrills and late arrivals. Prayer words tangle with the profane, the animal steam and certainty this favored path upon this angel's plane. Rushed breathing and curious vapors, the steam of being sharp in this tangle of want and name. Worldly pleasures await the soul's curious shine.
The bruised limbs and the cold street. Nothing really is meant to last forever. Cars blast past, vibrating the air. Bass lines built for cocaine and trickster chemistry, rhythms meant for gracious trails of smoke. That long walk, the fallen feeling of again being alone and too human. The terrible distance from the altar, the frightening immediacy of the rate of change. Wing shorn shoulders ache and burn. It is immeasurably cold, just being you.
Mortality works in weights and measures. It works in parsed words and bitter doses, bright nights and bitter leavings. The mended bones, the thickened scars. The lover's touch so hungry and fevered in each caress, so much stronger in its absence. The felt, the remembered, the feared and longed for-- all threaded through the poetry of forces that converge and exceed this being. We kiss and couple, hoping to double our chances. We are invented and created, and disposed of righteously and with out need. The muse comes and goes, our hearts still and quicken. We love and we lust, creating these blue moods and pensive spirits. We swear on our books and bibles, praying with each furtive breath.