Friday, June 29, 2007
Whispered into Hair
I want you.
I want you to find that place in the woods you knew was always there before your birth on the wing.
I want you to paint the walls every shade of self, annointing it with a halo from your distant sister-sun.
I want you to write each word for a love song that everyone will sing until the very last day, your words stretched to the end of ever like a galaxy of diamonds though the velvet, each star your own to have or sell or give back to the sea where it was born.
I want all the poetry that kisses your lips to melt me into slag.
I want to watch you walk across the sands as the sun goes down, barefoot and sober of heart, to were the waves crash and foam, to where the sea meets the sand, crushing shells into the million pearls of sand that stick to your skin in a way that only makes me remember what it was like the morning we met, listening to the words we spoke to each other, but reading only each other's lips for the real story to come.
I want to feel the end of something that will only come again if it remembers the true path that first led through the green trees streching skyward and grasses as high as we too were high on everything we touched and loved.
I want you to paint me every hue for a night and see how well the color holds through morning she-sun falling on us like hot rain in August.
I want to give these words to you and the spirit that gave them to me with them so you will burn with me one last time before she sun sets us to blaze with her warm hands on our skin.
I want to tell you how glad I am to risk my heart for yours to beat this close to me.
I just want you to know this.