PHOSPHORIMENTAL

Love struck,
we stagger from its embrace,
our lips still trembling
and all the more rouge.

Paint the world red with “this.”
Upon our breast, bare the mark of both
perpetrator and victim of love;
mine is “the shape of a heart.”

Pin down time and kiss it right back!

Warrior hearts leap from drunken ships
listing in the grizzly brine
waves with claws to rip the pray,
feast and vomit on a thin shoreline.

Swells roll in the wake of Neptune,
singing a lullaby, rippling the cloth
of angels, still and watching
frozen by the sea, in the froth.

Cadence in shadows in a choke green forest,
chased hard over pine needles and moss
My lover is close and bellicose
as I dash toward the pale pitted docks.

Fate the fickle savior, longing to be free,
to converge and diverge like braided streams of time…
dancing, hearts leaping, and touching, and fleeing,
in the long shadows of dusk sublime…

There I, mesmerized by silent play
between two little girls, taking turns at each others braids.
Cupped by soft fronds beneath the curve of a palm…
their calm was in concordance and apposition

Their eyes not hidden by lids and lashes,
but through the reticence,
I’d catch sun glinting off the moisture in their eyes,
like little honey dipped pearls.
How they would preen and twirl
each trestle.
Braids of time, in a long dance.

We walked with palms pressed
through pinwheels of light and long shadows,
stillness all around
except for the slow drop of the sun behind the trees.

Telling life stories in a symphony of words
that welled up from our hearts to our mouths,
hovering over our silhouettes
like musical notes
orbiting the trestles of cherubim and seraphim.

Preening and twirling out strands of curls,
fueling the light in their eyes,
which are forever warm fires
calling the other home.