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Thursday, October 15, 2009

Songs To Make Love To

As Eva Cassidy Sang

it was a magical night
as Eva Cassidy sang
her Fields of Gold,
and I laid you down
at the tip of a verse
that made you cry,
in a rhythm as precise
as a ticking clock,
touches rehearsing
a poetic inspiration
on skin unlocked to a more
rhythmic ticking
from within;

senses played havoc
with us as we lay
out our verbal nuances,
moving, moving, moving,
as Eva Cassidy cried
deeper in from the rim,
uncloaked and hot,
a perspiring sky
lost in a twister's eye
as we kissed
in our fields of soul,

I wondered whether your tears
were mine as our ears rang
with this physical
recital that choirs
nature's burning,
as Eva Cassidy sang
an elaborate diction
that spoke of a holy
shining benediction,
as a hollow filled,
bodies fulfilling,
I wondered if it was I
or Eva Cassidy
that made you cry.

_________________________

Night Song

The day is done,
sings the night's song.

Clouds unveil in a movement of parting,
waif slow, then moving fast,

a rain comes; grows strong, lean and long.
A brilliant moon's height,

soil dampens with the coming dew
and beneath it a crisp, tight rustling

that moves surreptitiously through
the dark rush of night.

It's not a sigh,
it's just a lullaby.

The air breathes deep,
braced as one; the world falls asleep.

Except
for you and I.

_________________________

An Act of Completion

I wanted to write you
a song from the loneliest,
the farthest away place
from the sun, so you'd know
where I'd come from
before I found you,

I wanted to sing a melody
that tears into you
to rip all the arteries apart,
that pump starts even
the most coolant heart,
so you'd know how you
breathed life into me,

I wanted to sing with verses
that rocked you senseless
with its harmony, where its vowels
would howl like lonely animals
abandoned to the pettiness
of merciless consonants,

I wanted to write such lyrics
that would depend on
your reading it to complete
what I had begun, where
the words would bite into
the very bit of you
that no one sees,
not even you;

conversed in all
the petty jealousies,
all the feelings gone crazy,
all this beauty outdone
in acts of completion
I wanted to write for you,
so then you might know
what you mean to me.

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