Your body was puzzling, like a half-made figure Till the final shaping of your voice came And riotous secrets of lines curved out And trembled upon your limbs. Then silence touched your body to motion: Your limbs released fleeing andantes of pain And your heart flung little crescents of budding caresses Into the waiting hunger of your eyes.
You are a well sprayed with cool rubies of sound In which I bathe and rise with another skin Like moon-stone passion slyly courting The light breath of a tired dream. I drop my heart into the depths Of your disheveled serenity, And stroll off empty. When my heart has merged to your shades of pearl quietness I return and once more drop within you.
The mellow anger of his hair Disputes his sleepy girl’s face. His robe glows like a painted wound Upon the bent meditation of his body. His hands are so thin that silence bruises them: Thin from the pressure brought by endless prayers... When you were with me I did not know That your voice was pouring him out in molten colors To be shaped by the fingers of my memory-- This prince-made-of-many-deal-loves.
Sometimes jaded, sometimes tranquil, Your eyes invade the tumult of your face. Your lips are the remnants of a love That made a sunset-cup of your face. The movements of your body Caress the couch you sit on into sound That seems to answer your words. You are restless because upon this couch The cold touch of your lover lies And seeps into you, reaching your heart.
Your arms, in faltering crescendos, Wander through the room Tinted with expectation of night. The room seems a tottering tomb Through which you roam with hands Striving to press each form into the shape Of someone buried beneath you.... Only when night sprays the room with his breath Do you change to that which you seek.
Two walls, dizzy with rain-touch And suffused with gauzily amorous sunlight, Creep over a hill and meet. And so our foreheads touch.
Silence between our hands grows into clasped music Sprinkling our finger-tips with attenuated chords of touch. Our hearts weave low songs to this accompaniment: So low that even silence cannot hear.
Afternoon sunlight limps tenuously away, Leaving a snarled retrospect of golden foot-marks. The sea is pregnant with gracious discords That falteringly shroud the sleep-rhythmed breasts of winds. The sky is a genially vacant stare. Remaining touches of starlight Tremble the leaves when air is still.... And so my love for you strolls through this day, Picking up forgotten hints of its heart.