She was free in her wildness.
She was a wanderess,
a drop of free water.
She belonged to no man,
and to no city.

My lips are a band of Gypsy wanderers
thieving their way across the landscape
of your body.
They are telling fortunes to your flesh,
They are selling potions to your ***.
They mining beauty
from your oceans,
from your caverns, and caves;
to use in their witchcraft;
that they may make others their slaves,
as your beauty has enslaved them.

Have you ever noticed how the paths the stars travel across the sky depend entirely upon on the way our hands move across each other's bodies?

And how new stars are born when I unhook your dress; new planets, when I unclasp your bra.

And how - when you untie your hair, whole new galaxies are formed, and float off into the nebula as your hair falls down around us.

Have you felt the cosmic trembling of my beard along your earlobe?

Or how - your eyelash sweeping across my chin sends showers of meteors to the end of time?

And how - the slower we proceed with our ritual, the slower, more gently, the earth will spin; the more elegant, more beautiful, the universe will unfold?

And how - we can even go back in time; to live and relive the stories we want retold.

Have you noticed how - all the Universe mirrors us?  

How - every experience and all of existence depend upon the extent of our adoration for each other?

How - we can even go back to the time before the earth was formed - for our love does not need the earth - we are two celestial bodies; nothing will disturb us, nothing will interfere.  

Off in the distance - the planets and stars that are the children of our whispers and moans, fade into eternity.

You see - if we love with enough elegance; adore each other with enough passion; we can even go back to before the entire universe began - to the time with no place, and the place before time.

For our love needs no time to love.

Be still, my love.

Look around us.  
Look at the delicate darkness.
Listen to the infinite silence.
Experience the magnificent stillness.  

It is just you and me.  
Nothing has ever happened.
And, all that is beautiful has yet to come.

Let us create a universe of beauty...

I slide my fingers into the aether of your thighs, to the center of the Universe to become - to the place on your body that will create everything.  For - the Cosmos will come from you, my Love.

Gently - I caress the sphere of your Landica.
I turn it, set it in motion, make it revolve - the way the Earth and all planets some day - are going to revolve once they come into being.

And - as I circulate the cosmic seed of the Universe we are creating, I hang upon the celestial majesty of your lip, and wait for you to utter your primordial - Big Bang.

No god above could ever inspire
my love like She whom I admire.
The temple where each night I pray,
is the holy bed where nights She lay.

A cup of wine.
A bed divine.
No world outside,
nor thoughts of time.

Our bodies meet,
our arms enlace;
our limbs entwine,
our lips embrace.

When lips first taste of passion's bliss,
in this holy kiss that we rehearse;
our bodies' grace is our godliness,
our bed divine is our universe.

Shrine of our idolatry,
bind our flesh eternally;
sear our chests with passion's fire,
adhere our groins of mad desire.

Forever our spirits in the Heavens soar,
however, we plummet - to the floor.
Fingertips chase over slips of lace.
Teeth they find all things that bind...

How savagely our clothes unwind
as we prepare on bed divine
to make the sacrifice sublime!

And all Creation comes from this
Breath we form in holy kiss.
When lips combine
Your breath in mine,
two breaths they form
one breath divine.

Déesse, mon âme,
by Your body,
All that's godly, I define.
For what could be in the skies above,
that I can't find within Your love?

Our love, it makes the stars align,
the moon eclipse,
and the solar shine.

And all Creation comes from this
Union of our holy kiss.


[End of Act I]

She wakes in a puddle of sunlight.
Her hands asleep beside her.
Her hair draped on the lawn
like a mantle of cloth.

The garden around her gleams.
The last pieces and particles
of her dreams
plummet
from the projector
in the cinema of her soul.

And the sky above is blue...
spilling milk and blueberries
from an upturned bowl.

I once had a love
who folded secrets between her thighs
like napkins,
and concealed memories in the valley
of her *******.
There was no match for the freckles on her chest,
and no one could mistake them for a field
of honeysuckles.
Upon her lips,
a thousand lies were spread in sweet gloss.
Her kiss was like a storybook of medieval chivalry,
or a poem from ancient history.
She was at home with the body of a man
inside her,
beside her.
And those night she lay in bed crying,
no one could mistake the tears she wept
for a summer shower.
She is gone, my Love.
She was a wanderess,
a wildflower.