...the *** or the cuddles that I recall,
Not those that made it for me more than
Just a fling,
Although those were fun
(Don't get me wrong because they were!)
They were but passing bouts of
Sweaty indignity however good we either
May have been

No,
What made it great were those gentle,
One might almost call them shy,
Moments of shared intimacy,
Shared sense or wonder,
Appreciation together of something else,
Outside of us yet by being shared,
Defining us,

Those shared things,
Those fragile moments so
Easily scoffed about are and were
What made us great you and I,
When we were us,
When we were paired
In history ,

So very long ago...

How many precious
Moments have we
Shared you and I,
Circling one another in
Lives semi linked in friendship?

How many looks matched
With almost physical violence,
One gaze crashing into the other
One soul's glazing
Locked upon another

Then smashed asunder
As concious thought returns
And proprietary mores
Wrench back control
From softening hearts,

How many of these over the
Years we've known?
I know not yet even as I half
Think these lines our souls
Link again

I sit in a web of intrigue
Involved and yet inviolate,
Not touched by others sorrows yet
Feeling every lonely cry,

I tug the webs of life
In which we all are struggling
And help others make a little progress
Or ease their situation

So many know me
Yet but few have any
True sense of me and what
I am or do

Many blunder passed
While some pause reflective
And a few see something which
Registers briefly before the stupor

Washes in to take them down
But life is for those very few who
Grasp my outreached hand
And cast aside the unseen net

That binds them to a pointless
Obedient existance and those
Few those Happy few
Live with passion and with joy

My eyes do not lie,
They blaze my would be secrets
About the place like a lighthouse
Illumning the safe route home,

They call out my decency yet
Also my passion and my
Lack of limit,
My wanton desire mixed with generosity

They shout that I will have you
If that be thy desire yet not that
Deepest part of me will
Any other have,

Which makes me what?
For I am not for sale and I am
Keeper of many secrets,
Perhaps a form of succubus

Describes me best,
My drugs of choice are
Secrets whispered quietly
Sincerely and occasionally in shame,

My eyes scream they're hiding secrets
Yet also show somehow that none shall
Ever be revealed,
And so it is for me,

A rolling succession of
Those who want so much yet get but
That which they truly need,
My eyes see all

My heart knows all,
My fingers trace the lines and
Passions of others lives
And futures,

My eyes oversee my
Meandering toward that cliff
Whence none have returned bar one,
And it is He to whom I will

Reveal both mine all
and their everything

Our eyes meet across a crowded room
Or one where none but we are present or
Perhaps it is one and the same place,
That same room
Whence distractions of others melt,
Dissolving from our awareness

We circle in a literal and figurative manner,
Closing the gap
Two predators aware of the other's thought,
Intention and indeed desire,
Prowling in ever more certain cirlces as to the
Evenings inevitable closure

Then later when the killing is done
And all predatory passion is sated,
The post coitic
Post feasting lethargy sets in,
We stretch and yawn ,
And sleep

I looked in your eyes
And I saw in your soul
The passion and colour
Of unquechable fire and
Unplumbable depths
And I,
I jumped,
Feet first,
Into wild abandon

We dance noses almost touching
Our arms and hands
Placed as the style dictates,
Arms in tension and legs poised yet the
Greatest electricity flows eye to eye
And soul to soul