dirge and reel

Delicacy abounds in these long slow moments, the lushness of this focus, the pleasure of your insistence. Hands unfold, revealing the flights of touch, the blunt necessity of reaching out in this world spun of trembling starlight and whispers of flesh. Lips press, then part, the heated stitching of each breath completing a cycle by beginning another. While you are this close, the heart can only gambol and leap. While we hold this thought, we are undone, re-written in that most lovely native tongue.

Outside the winds stir and skip, at play in the feathered traces of the night. You hold your breath, listening for that common call, the vivid spirit of creation imbued with-in your blood. Breathing in again, you know your boundless limits. We are awash in the tastes and grasp of the mystery itself. The song of an endless tide, pulsing and washing through us as we mingle with the stuff of myth and stars. The dance has us, even in silence and stillness. The dance is everything, and you are the music and the limbs of this perpetuity. The nights seethes and you body is aflame with this burdensome grace.

Stretch high beneath the taller sky, crouch tight above the tiniest clutch and bow. Feel the passage of time with-in the tangle of your thoughts and bones. You are held so close you are finally free, form and flow at once. These joys and sorrows, these terrors and delights, your whole life written as dirge and reel. Your mouth shapes your words in perfect bites, tongue and tooth gently desiccating feed into form, making meaning in slips and splinters. Your speak softly, too low for normal speech, too gentle for even the least supplication. Alone, your flesh mingling with the air and light, your have said enough. In these clots of want and muscle, of ghost and fire, we are heard.