SONG FOR HER DEEP SOUL
I’ve been swimming so long,
I don’t know I’m swimming:
Her eyes will never drown me—
it’s not her tidal eyes. She sees
me bare, cool. She offers a sea
where I will swim so long.
To say her touch—her touch cures,
That’s true—but now, her skin and nerves
are a current so soft, so pure
I don’t know I’m swimming.
Her voice? Who’d forget that voice—
rocking, steady as a buoy
calling sailors? There’s no choice
but to swim for so long
I come in range of her soul—
A perfect pilgrim that knows
all of me. Like a bell, she tolls—
I keep swimming in her direction
and I never know that I’m swimming.
Your mouth is made for pleasure, for tasting:
Don’t think now. Let rich cream tickle you—slow
as your last kiss. The blossoms call your name,
draw you close. Smell the flowers and forget
what they’re called. Just some words you don’t quite know
or need to know. That bright yellow heart’s not tame
though it’s not a wild bloom. Do not expect
knowledge when sensation’s set out before
your wise mouth. You want to learn how it’s made
but now’s not the night for learning. Breathe
in richness. Let senses open like doors.
It melts. Your tongue revels, forgets. Fades,
then swells once more. No part of you believes
this texture. Surrender. Now, look across
your plate to those waiting eyes, daring face—
daring you not to think. Your task, to feel
your mouth, lips, those eyes. Maybe toss
your hair, lick your lips. Here is the one place:
These flavors, those flowers. The eyes are real.
Your mouth is made for kisses. Don’t waste it.