The act of love with you was special . . . almost sacred,
imbued with a sense of sacrament and ritual, a singularity
of touch prescribed . . . synchronicity, harmonics, chemistry
morphology, DNA and magic in linear code
cast in your image . . . all of 24, blonde hair and green eyes
set against the wide expanse, the unnameable shade
of blue pacific skies, the clean scent of ocean rain
and cool glitter . . . of San Francisco at night.
Every feature you possess deemed to reveal a subtle trace,
a sign . . . of ancient myth and legend
in every grace and curve of line, inviting and enticing
all who approach to a point of apogee . . . ascension, a reality
beyond perception of the senses, where we who enter
are forever changed . . . consumed in union with the absolute
in the tao of love.
It is there I go . . . the space between each parallel
of what is and what might yet be,
each time my arms embrace, my lips connect and meet your own
wishing now . . . forever . . . this moment to be stayed,
that time might forget before we awake
and all emotion fades . . .
In your absence I dedicate to memory
all the mystery you possess, knowing time . . . queen solvent
of things rich and complex,
will recall a summer afternoon . . . the two of us alone
each bead of sweat from your body on my tongue
as we made love . . . the sound of every sigh and cry
like birds in flight amid falling rain
on a voyage to paradise.