a moon aflame

It is only now when I craving
close my eyes, sighing for
this brightly burning need of you,

my muse, my ever urgently
infusing illumination waxing
gloriously by the light of Serene,

presaging dark before dawn caressing,
plying your hands across my need,
pleading with me for pleasures more,

as probing moonbeams descend
from, my quiet, quivering love, you
exciting eddies over the waters

that warmly pulsing flow through me
from the very deepest source of most
sweetly trembling teasing you,

who, so insightfully imparting
deliciously these whispered moans
of moistly possessing passion,

draws from the dark a light
in me that seethes with desire
and fire and a moon ever aflame.

[Of moonbeams and the dark before dawn.]

A Weary Mystic and His Muse

the proud mystic bares his sullen soul
neatly rending hearts he seeks to mend
turning wider and wider in succulent
spirals aspiring in vain for dire divinity

gossamer whispers the muse’s speech
adorn, silken strands weaving wondrous
fair a tapestry of deepest blue devotion
while stars scintillate delighted above

the dervish silent descends ascending
the unseen pole of his absolute truth
inspired by verses vital and unbending
while resonating still with earthly desire

her words pulse in minutest breath
of vibrantly vindicated warmly flesh
her lips impressing such pretty patterns
on his newly awakened mannish soul

what hope now have I, he cringing cries
her tongue urging his skin to dance
his hands explore her fringes flickering
enflamed the meaning of her liquid sighs

his heart finds her panting holy a hymn
her mouth searing denial from his lungs
with laughter lithely she paints their love
in tones reflecting the honesty of her eyes

Salinas 20 Jun 2012