Tag Archives: pure love

Shared

This was a secret world, among the thick green and tall grass, a lush little grotto by the clear, silver creek. The sounds of the highway and the shouts and noise of the people in the town did not come here. It was a shard of Eden.

               Gabriella was leading me by the hand. That hand was small and warm, and felt so light and strong in my own. We did not talk, as this was sacred.

               The branches and leaves of the trees hid even the twilight sky, though honeyed gold lit us in robes of flames. She pulled her hand away and faced me. She smiled, then placed her hands on my shoulders, signaling me to kneel in the dirt.

               I did.

               Her smile grew brighter, and she did the same.

               Her fingers brushed my cheek, and she looked me in the eye, locking me in her light, which was grey like starlight, and as ancient. Her eyes were the color of the water that was the only sound, deep and resonate and without blemish.

               She kissed me, softly, tenderly. Her fingers curled into my hair.

               A light began to emminate from inside her chest, crimson and pulsating and rich, the color of blood and life and birth. She put her fingers into that light, and pulled her chest open.

               The ball of crimson light came out in her hands. Our sacred place was like an unshed womb, dark with nuturing flesh.

               On her face was a shy and intimate smile, the light in her hand she was handing to me, to my hands that waited and trembled, in this most intimate moment, our most delicate bonding.

               She was handing me her soul.

               I held it, and it was heat that did not burn, a dream that did not wake, a wound that was cut and healed at birth.

               I felt the light of her, the essence that had drawn me to her, helpless against her wonder, was in my hands.

               We were one, this angel and me.

               And I felt all the sweetness of my life return, untarnished by loss and the fall from grace, I felt the times the light of heaven had poured through me like the river crashing in white capped power down the mountain, washing away all else in it’s past.

               If I had been unworthy, we both would have burned away.

               And in that fleeting eternity, that sweetness of her glory, she knew all there was in me, and all I could be, that I would be, for her, for us.

               And I returned her soul to her , and slipped back into her silk and soft flesh that closed around it, and sealed in the light.

               She looked like a young woman again, hiding her power and beauty.

               Again, she reached out and touched my face, stroking my cheek.

               Again, she gave me a soft, tender kiss.

               The tears wracked me then, unable to absorb all that had happened, that we had shared.

               She drew me in her arms and kissed my head, sang me a song from some happy land.

               I cried, then slept in her arms.

Whispers and Murmurs

At the first of morning, before work begins,

me and Emily Jane walk in the dim, damp mist.

The second growth forest, the call of singing birds,

the dark, dark ink of the cross on her pale wrist.

We say nothing, their is only the cool and quiet.

A little creek runs beneath us, reminds me of childhood.

A still, quiet voices whispers in the air, and I can almost

feel close to The Spirit in her, that I’ve scarcely ever understood.

She turns to me, takes me hands into her own, and bows her head

and in murmurs and whispers she prays over us, this new day.

I bow my head, and feel at peace, before the war begins again,

I wish I was always with her in these moments, that innocence could stay.

A Small Bed in a Small Room

A small bed in a small room, the bright and harsh August sun

spilling in through the thick cream curtains over the window.

It hot, sweltering in this room, but we clutch each other close,

still under a thin blanket, our prayers made in our silence, dreams.

A pocket universe, a hiding place with a ring of salt around it,

keeping our demons out for the moment of our still embrace,

an angel taking mercy on us puts down his flaming sword

and we rest in the quiet and the honey shadowed afternoon.

I kiss your head, and you turn to kiss my lips, brush my cheek

and then we make love, in the heat and the shadows, and are one

flesh and one spirit and one dream, and are like angels, or Adam and Eve,

when God was everywhere before their eyes, and no demons could corrupt.

And as night falls, we dress in loose, large shirts and pajama bottoms

and make a simple meal to share, and then sit on the front porch,

the plain so wide open and nothing hiding the Milky Way, God’s eye,

from us as the night falls, and the most sacred procession begins.

Night Birds

November.

Late. Almost dawn.

We sit against wall of the look out.

The city is just beyond the forest,

outshining the stars.

We huddle close.

We spent the night

trying to outrace the city,

it’s lowly, earthbound light,

to the sacred, dark and still.

We walked carefully,

among the silent trees

and the calls of night birds

and the hungry beasts,

to remember, those ancient days.

By moonlight,

we came upon a clearing,

a spring of cool, clear water.

We drank, and saw light in flesh,

entwined in our skins, in our minds,

like each half a of soul.

The stars above,

those souls going up, coming down,

and I saw her as pure light, all spirit,

and she saw the same in me, in us,

before the fruit was taken in communion.

Now, back in earthbound light,

we still hum and shine, radiate.

The weight of her at my side,

held in my arms, the heat of her breath,

still connect to the top of the stairway.

We sit on the wall

as the sun comes up again,

and the stars are pushed away

and the sun takes all the sky for itself.

Silver light and golden light entwine.

Sacrificial Delight

The desert coast, the melting, technicolor sunset.
The derelict bus was burning. Sacrificial delight.
In your robe like white dress you danced and laughed.
We were high. We were touching the stars. We were free.

Long, thick black hair and dusky skin, eyes brown like moist earth.
I filmed you, they eye in eye seeing you, youthful and beautiful
and with the starlight of Alpha Centauri shining through you,
were you soul was forged eons ago in fire and an angel’s breath.

The stars were coming out, and you smiled at me, and I captured
it all, all the dreaming and madness and endless nights of love.
The derelict bus burned and we were high and we were free,
and I could into the very center, where that shard of a star was your heart.

Goodbye my lover. In heaven we will be free and bright again……….

 

A Change of Season

Mussy, short cut hair, and those bright blue eyes.

               Too large flannel, long sleeved shirt, dark colored tee.

               Fading denim jeans, and worn out Converse high tops.

               First of autumn, evening coming crisp as dry, dead leaves.

 

               My palms are sweaty, and I’m hot despite the cool air.

               The stars starting to bejewel the blood velvet of sunset.

               You smile, but don’t look at me, as I try to gather my nerve.

               My hands tremble, and the damp smell of leaves is sweet.

 

               I take your hand in mine, and squeeze. You sigh, turn to me.

               We face each other, eyes bright and clear and as open as the sky.

               I stroke your cheek, and you close your eyes, lean into my fingers.

               Leaves fall and the trees die back, but life is ever bright and warm.

 

               Unsure, I lean forward, our lips touching, and you kiss me back.

               My hand on your cheek, your fingers stroking my curly, wild hair.

               I am warm like I swallowed the sun, wrapped in eternal, divine light.

               The season has changed, light in the dark, as we walk hand in hand.

Shared

Shared

 

               This was a secret world, among the thick green and tall grass, a lush little grotto by the clear, silver creek. The sounds of the highway and the shouts and noise of the people in the town did not come here. It was a shard of Eden.

               Gabriella was leading me by the hand. That hand was small and warm, and felt so light and strong in my own. We did not talk, as this was sacred.

               The branches and leaves of the trees hid even the twilight sky, though honeyed gold lit us in robes of flames. She pulled her hand away and faced me. She smiled, then placed her hands on my shoulders, signaling me to kneel in the dirt.

               I did.

               Her smile grew brighter, and she did the same.

               Her fingers brushed my cheek, and she looked me in the eye, locking me in her light, which was grey like starlight, and as ancient. Her eyes were the color of the water that was the only sound, deep and resonate and without blemish.

               She kissed me, softly, tenderly. Her fingers curled into my hair.

               A light began to emminate from inside her chest, crimson and pulsating and rich, the color of blood and life and birth. She put her fingers into that light, and pulled her chest open.

               The ball of crimson light came out in her hands. Our sacred place was like an unshed womb, dark with nuturing flesh.

               On her face was a shy and intimate smile, the light in her hand she was handing to me, to my hands that waited and trembled, in this most intimate moment, our most delicate bonding.

               She was handing me her soul.

               I held it, and it was heat that did not burn, a dream that did not wake, a wound that was cut and healed at birth.

               I felt the light of her, the essence that had drawn me to her, helpless against her wonder, was in my hands.

               We were one, this angel and me.

               And I felt all the sweetness of my life return, untarnished by loss and the fall from grace, I felt the times the light of heaven had poured through me like the river crashing in white capped power down the mountain, washing away all else in it’s past.

               If I had been unworth, we both would have burned away.

               And in that fleeting eternity, that sweetness of her glory, she knew all there was in me, and all I could be, that I would be, for her, for us.

               And I returned her soul to her , and slipped back into her silk and soft flesh that closed around it, and sealed in the light.

               She looked like a young woman again, hiding her power and beauty.

               Again, she reached out and touched my face, stroking my cheek.

               Again, she gave me a soft, tender kiss.

               The tears wracked me then, unable to absorb all that had happened, that we had shared.

               She drew me in her arms and kissed my head, sang me a song from some happy land.

               I cried, then slept in her arms.

Just Us And Stardust

A thin red curtain over the window, on a cold January afternoon,

               Snowy and buried white, dim sky, through the curtain seems holy,

               Like stained glass in a cathedral; is not what we do now true, pure?

 

               Your body thin and lithe and strong, small breasts flattened against me.

               Your short hair I run my fingers through, your pale lips taste of starlight.

               I worship with kisses and tenderness, and I can feel angel’s wings,

               From your back and your soul and the eerie purity of our mad devotion.

 

               This room with the overactive heater making our bedroom hot and

               Suffocating and making us feel safe from winter and death and loss

               And as if this perfection is all there is, just us and stardust and love.

               Unmarried but I belong to you, you to me, and us to the angels.

 

               And for this cold afternoon, until the end of time, cherubim with

               Flaming swords rotating watch the door and Archangel Michael

               Has cast out Satan from our heaven, in one room, in one little

               Town by ancient mountains, worn down by eons and seasons.

 

               And angels indwell in us, and wings wrap us, we wrap each

               Other and pull close and sweat out the poison in love making

               And sweltering heat and the holy and candied light of the thin

               Red curtain, and our devotion to the light and love and heaven above.

 

               Love is all there is here. Love is all there is, forever.

 

              

Making Love On A Sunday

The sun is golden and warm, as we undress out of church clothes.

               You back is pale and soft, as you strike a statuesque and awkward pose,

               Pulling off your cream stockings, and then sit down on the edge of the bed,

               Your coifed black hair now wild and free, all pretense at perfection now fled.

              

               I strip on out of my pants and underwear, and sit beside you, kiss your cheek

               And touching your belly. You giggle, and lean into my kisses, no words to speak.

               We lay down, man and wife, another altar in a private place, flesh and spirit one.

               We make love in the hazy and soft sunlight, in this tenderness, a baser thing undone.

 

               Holding each other close, hearts racing, and sleep coming to seal the afternoon,

               Our bodies one flesh, and made new and holy as the world passes on without a swoon.

               You turn you face to me, and I kiss your lips, and we smile and laugh, so endless, so clear.

               We fall asleep in an embrace, just a temple for us in this bedroom, where all days disappear.

 

              

Outside The World

Emma and me, outside the party, outside the world.
The night is warm in the first of September, clear, open.
We talk as if we could still walk among the stars, like children.
We talk as if the world never fell, and paradise was still here.
 She lays her head upon my shoulder, and I kiss her head.
Her hand holds mine, and we are warm, clean, like Eden.
She turns up her face, and I softly kiss her lips, taste the apple.
Her hand on my face, such sweetness became the fall, forever.
 The sky is filled with stars, and the moon moves wild tides.
She hung her name somewhere in Andromeda, for me to find.
Find her name, find the spell dream and desire and lust have cast,
as loud laughter and thumping music betray a perfect night.