Parts of you are soft.
The light behind your eyes.
Those places of your form and being
spike the light hard-held in mind
behind the light in mine,
so soft.
You cannot see
the point and edge
and warm hard club
in burgeoning to
bludgeoning inside
a mind grown firm
and dense in your
caress -
- by softnesses,
with such keen thought,
strong feel concealed
within you, playing out
revealed to me unstressed,
and natural.
We're such a mess!
Between us made
quite incoherent, yet we sense
a coalesce, perchance congeal.
Wethinks confess, protesting
not at all. We feel
to condescend a bit,
to find
communion
in a rush and tussle,
tousled writhe and fall,
undressed and blessed
with sweat and sharp incense
and all, to rise again - or better,
lie
and breathe
and grin, just bathe
in aftermath
aglow.
Behold! Behave! The one
made up of two! Lies here!
That legendary beast of
burden, labor, love and wings
uplifting us in songs
to sing, now sprawls
in rest and recreation's pause,
me gathering you
gathering.
Now see?? Was that
so hard but soft? OK,
it was. Now
in your voice
which turns in flip
and somersault
to catch me every time
it calls in nets of choices
I'd have always sought, and
always made if given any
choice you gave, your voice
is soft. And I
no longer breathe so hard.
What fond parade of thoughts
and prayers is playing now
behind your eyes - and I,
no fool! Behind mine, too.
And you can see as well, I
find.
It isn't hard.
It's easy, babe. But
parts of me are hard
sometimes
to take.
Sometimes
you cannot see.
But soft! But still, I sense
you know the pattern
and the path we've laid
to curve and interlocking shape
with holes of light and dark
arrayed, displayed, designed
for none to see
but you and I.
And oh, who kids! Who cares -
the world can see quite well!
They snicker, grinning giggling
- or maybe it's a scent, a smell
that clues them in.
That Yin/Yang stank.
So dark and bright
like incense notes
arising in a heady glass
of potent grapes,
so redolent of earth
and snow
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