Tilt that cup towards us, beauty…
the saucer of which rests politely on your knee~
We buzz close to your perfumed wrists,
a white throat that rises gracefully
like a swan from the waters of your blue-green blouse
Lips upturned against rim.
The honey sinks beneath brew
unaware of your graces, of each pulsing beat
that throbs beneath layers of skin
it knows not of worldly devises,
cannot know the glory of being within
vessels of the divine.
Processing, putting out, dreaming of the sky
which unfurls like the heady promise of
lofty hope before us~
We make our beds of clover and grass
sweet, dewy licks of coolness
that douses the skin.
It is our song that draws you finally,
whirling like a constellation of gold
glistening pollen & rain,
catching light… all for that sweet drink of nectar,
a lazy caress from the mistress’ lips
and perhaps a taste tomorrow.
On waking, to find you absent-
having flown this proverbial coop
of twisted bedding, damp sheets
of feathers that recall you…
ruffled and smoothed
by both mouth and hands-
i would not curse you earthbound,
though greedy, i would have you at my side
and pray for small openings,
crevices and spaces that allow me entry
into some precious, sacred room
you’ve kept for yourself,
seeking knowledge of the moon,
aloft while i forage…
a raven,
craving those shiny, pretty things…
feathering this nest with baubles and trinkets-
i would not pray you walking, wingless-
shifting aimless between shadow and light,
staring up between tree limbs
begging for the sky-
while my legs and arms entwined,
keep you rooted to the earth
with what fruit we might produce
is my womb,
is my love of you,
is my desperate language,
tongues we speak in secrecy-
i would not repent, not forsake you-
though gods and humanity will not recognize us…
i would not have you fallen…
…for me.
Author’s Note: I came across the legend of the Grigori while exploring spiritualism in some old estate sale books. The Grigori were a group of angels who had been sent down to be watchers of humanity only to fall in love with mortal women and begin mating with them.
The idea of being cast out, of becoming ‘fallen’ for love intrigued me and this is what evolved~
i dreamed i had a sister,
once-
when the trees were still young and the days fell into candle light.
The willow branches whispered against our arms and cheeks
as we raced and laughed beneath.
Leaves tangled in our hair, our skirts flirting against our hips,
pockets laden with feathers and stones.
We danced in the round, our brooms stirring the dust behind us,
our bare feet not quite tethering us to the earth.
We were careless with our hearts and found joy in every great and little thing.
I knew you then-
the trip of your heart, the blood of your veins.
I dreamed i had a sister.
i own this body without apology,
in all it’s nervy glory,
it’s bumps and mishaps and imperfections,
in all it’s deliberate failings
it is a map that reveals my trials and travels,
my exalted history
and like smooth plains of promise,
the rise and fall and hint of something more.
i shake sorrow like frost from limbs,
a stuttering flame
that flickers and gasps and lights again,
see the miracle that i am?
and you would be too, a broken bird
knocked from nest
that took to air and finally flew
i rise and rise… watch me soar~
We make up our days of what we should
And should not do~
Words like: Please, darlin’ don’t…
And: You shouldn’t…
Or: What if I kissed you…. There?
Walking tight ropes of cello string
That moan and ache beneath our imbalance
How I move against your hands
Like a willing corset cord
Tightening within your fingers.
Tonight I shall change our language
And hum to you~
Words like: Don’t stop…
And: Yes
Or: What if I dared let you….?
We communicate in some different language,
not so much words as a movement of the body
or lifting of the eyes.
“Goodnight” you would say
with the passing of your hand,
a subtle eclipse over your lips.
I’ve come to understand miracles
in a silent, awing fashion-
“Saints should be on horseback,” you said
“Imagine the freedom,
the access and mobility.”
Can people like us have faith
in all the every day things?
Can I speak with my mortal heart,
see reason with my mortal eyes,
feel something with the flesh of my fingers
that so far has gone unobserved-
Would i kiss you and find your mouth
nothing less than miraculous?
Your thoughts are unchartered territory, i know-
but they are mine.