By Judith Fitzgerald Jan 28, 2008, 10:33 GMT
One narrow world that might be anywhere; but, for you,it's here and it's now, now. Palest full moon in the window,muted blue-grey shadows, smoke coiling withinvariegated scintillae of light.Just lie there.Don't move.That's good. Nothing like a man who can followthe figures of beauty, fathom the fingers, the splayingof light. Your hands are beautiful, smoothand worn, firm and supple, a hint of moistureglancing off the wet plucked eye suspended in the balance,in the frame, and yes, I'm calling your name, seeking, seeking, speakingfrom experience, from what I know you crave; so, come,here, now. I know what you need and you know how goodit can feel, giving yourself over to the abandoning emptyingand to keep breathing, hot, like that, on the back of my neck. Man . . .Did a dame ever have it so good, so easy, a place to worship,a temple in which to slide moist lips and eloquent tongue narratinga wordless world turning upsy-turvy placing these jewelsever so gently between teeth, and time, and breathe,hallelujah, breathe, breathe, breathe. Wild and wondrousbefore this fragility of need and it's heavenly to kneel,desire flickering defiantly among stilled shiftings of forever,lovely so opened, awake in my mouth. And, you know,it's the rhythm,it's the glide and sway, it's you moving with me and I with youtasting the sweet explosions spectacularly cascadingacross the moon drifting slowlyout of this poem, this frame, this time, air porouswith inevitability, menace and caress held at bay, thighs tanglingin strands of the futureless future gutteringamong shafts of light and yes, that's it and that's all.
Judith Fitzgerald recently completed her four-part epic poem, the critically acclaimed Adagios Quartet. She is currently inking Leonard Cohen: Master of Song (Dundurn Press, Fall 2008).
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