Storms of grey
a hurricane in those piercing eyes,
when your crows feet look bad,
instead of ****,
you keep saying the same
I keep changing,
like the tide.

You are standing STILL on the beach.

An if change is the ONLY constant,
I am afraid I will cease to exist
like you- if I stay.

Ma Cherie © 2017

The humid air embraces us like a soft blanket. We sit inches apart with books in our hands quietly studying the words before us. Your cat crawls across me and we steal glimpses at each other. The air feels warmer, more enchanting. I can hear your breathing change when you reach a particularly interesting part in your book. I look up to see you smiling, your dark hair falling slightly out of your hat. This is the first time I have seen you still, at peace, since we had broken up. I continue my book. Soon, it is time to go. We hug and suddenly, overwhelmed by the familiarity, the certainty, I kiss you. You do not kiss back. The spell is broken.

Come to me.
             your inscribed
                slashes of verse
                branded upon
             the juice of
           my tongue
     a specter
    of the ultimate gift
      as we allow
         the magic
              to rise
               and peel off in
         swathed, aching
         layers,
                undone
Each stratum of
  dermis shed
       is a prayer for
         our succulent
                     redemption
                        Each shadow of
                          silky cuttlefish caress
                   a plea for sanctity
            or perhaps simply
            being loved
        into a frenzy
        of sanity
            healing in waves
                    of electric eyes
                          You open me
                    like a holy book
              and I am suddenly
                  filled with light
           as you unlock
the blessings
from my spinal fluid
and I am a priestess
  on her altar
       arms raised,
         love braised
              into slick-lit wonder
               a spiral cone rising from
                            ground to crown
                 chakric palette pulsating
            phosphorescent ripples
on deep-sea creatures
Your ubiety
       slakes my naked,
            somatic anatomy
                   a mere shelter
                          for our souls    
                       a working
       of muscle and skin
    with heart strings pumping
                    the essence within
                     Our brainwaves
                                    sizzle in
                         glandular fire
                        as pheromones
                       envelope us
                   like incense
This goes far beyond the
wet cuntflush of desire
beyond the embellishment
of moistened sword
  It is the sacred dance
         of souls that merge
            before even touching
                      pre-verbal animal
                   first light of mankind
                          in ancient swells
                                 of earth that
                           rise like sparks
                the constellations
           of firework chimes
       in arcs of
chiseled
         dark