I used to eye her more than books.

She had good looks
and for me
in the library
she killed the dullness of patience
the stifled air of silence
with her lips' hidden smile
that was quite a diversion
from pouring over yellowed pages
all the while.

In the garden I sought my chance
but she resisted any advance
telling me it's not her
I needed to be in my mind
but a job I must find
for couldn't be raised a family
merely loving in the library.

I think she gave me love
when I needed a job
but by the time I earned the bread
she was already married.

Once I thought of her as Miss Giving
but now as I look back
I have serious misgiving.

last night
as I soaked my feet
       in hot water and fragrant oils
           put on some
              Bollywood tunes
           and let my hips
         start to sway
my head began
to swoon
and the binding
threads holding me so tight
inside myself
      began to fray
          my chest opening in
             rips and starts
                 to reveal its valves
             in engorged release
       of dark magenta shadows
of teasing, gnashing inner beasts
while this was going on
the moon lit up
around me
      in its eight different phases
its halves and crescents
        shimmering    
in incense-scented cadence
my fingers reached out
to stroke each one,
          unique in its own heated glow              
                          as I realized that
               they will never cease,
these sequined
streams of joy
in embroidered flow
as long as we are connected
            to the root point of self
the love pumps quiet fire
                         in our veins
           even when trapped    
in slamming undertow
     pressed tornado slab
                              of pain
and I have had my face
pressed under watery surfaces
for such a long time
that suffocation
almost feels like
        breathing
so it's time to
move these hips and thighs
                and get this soulspark
                                                 reeling

and to you
I make myself
           a gift
to be held in palm
unwrapped
s l o w l y,
an
       ever-
evolving
apparition of
            sculpture,
       malleable
yet firm,
with backbone
  
       and as you trace
your fingers
upon the small
      of it,
running them
               over
slopes
         of spine
watching my skin
          slip from
rough ache han
                     gi
                         ng
to
smooth quake
know that
      underneath
crisp wrappings
of papery
         gossamer
beats the ultimate
of ceremonial offerings:
the present of
       my presence,
fiery,
            pulsing
shimmering like
blood on lava
ready for you
to dip your
      heart into
         lips parting
as my breath fills your
     spirit's cavern
slick dip
        of opening
as you draw
    shadows from
my deepest
Cimmerian caves
  ******* them through  
in siphon's pull
to the side of light
        until
around you and
deep inside
you split
me
  oh so gently
and fully
completely
    apart