KONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA
My forearm
Has your fingers circled around it
My waist
Your hands meeting each other
The tattoo of your movement
Across the salt of my plains
You chisel my rise and fell my present
Into your eyes I tumble
As velvet dark becomes elongating heaven
Your fingers brush my cries with storm
I am beneath you, as infinite waterfall
In your shadow, from your shade
Eclipsing to return, cycles of moon
Blur what is real, against imagined.
Over time we learn
neither exist more than other
it is our capture of this moment
held in elapsing abeyance
within some sphere beyond consciousness
evoking mislaid emotion
flame lit against sulphur hearts
and we climbed the mountain, sweating and fatigued
thinking … why even bother?
Those wise voices, challenging us as children
take each experience, infuse it
with the richness of YOU
here’s the camera, snap a shot
twenty years later, we are still staring off
color changes over time and people
will leave and return like cuckoo dolls carved into
clocks.
Unexpected are the faithful and true
we smile because we’re told to
soon sides begin to droop, if held too long
spontaneous and a little dangerous
leaving the washing for another day
floors need cleaning, beds changing and perhaps …
if we stand still and instead, wait
they will see our outlines if
they’re not in a hurry
but everyone is too preoccupied
with staring at the red moon
to notice our climb
over the globes circumference
flying we take hold, of each others seek
a creature of bush fire and opal.
She told me once
don’t wear them, they are bad luck
I polish now, the angles of my semi-precious face
to ensure nobody knows my true thoughts
save you, you who built
the universe and with your existence
I have no need of foolishness.
We are what we are, because
there is a flower blooming
only at night and
the frangipani spell stays
rich and heady
all through the long
hours
of our union.
