skin polished
with oils, salt and husks
i gleam
with perfumed butters and musk
silken smooth flesh
like living warm honey
i languish
in the golden light of dusk
limbs naked
under silks and plush
i wait

i wait for you

All writers write about their love..
There's nothing left to say.
Every metaphor's been used,
all twists of phrase been played.
I think I might just have to choke,
if I read one more line -
from contemporary poets,
who ponder, pledge and pine!
And worse, I'm blindly one of them!
I know no other way.
And I have no excuse except,
I met my love one day.

Strong memories rise
and emotions clench my throat.
Behind my eyes I see the images.
They spin, one after another,
till they are no longer spectres.
They live again before me as it was.
The deep music plays - reminding my soul
of every ideal and dream.
I feel the wingbeats of some nightbird
and her heart's source.
The hair on the back of my neck rises.
I feel my long hair lifted by the wind.
My body begins to turn and turn in a dervish dance.
Night wind, Take me with you!
I know just where to go.

When from my dreams I waken in the night,
and there my seeking arms still find you gone;
I panick, as the visions all take flight;
for I forgot, in dreams, I was alone.
With tenderness I think of you, away;
as if by reaching out I'd touch your star.
But I know I could never make you stay
and so I long for you just where you are.
I know you wish you too could be with me,
and when I wake, you then begin to dream.
For half a world away, you'll always be,
and true love cannot be what it would seem.
The sun and moon still dance on to their rhyme,
in your half of the world, and then in mine.