Thursday, February 28, 2013


There was a desperate need
to taste her hips
For consciousness
to be her scent
Aware going in
grasping too tightly
would puncture
possessing would
be to define
her time and space
attracting even her attention
does not lead to her increase
wraps her in the third dimension
experience her as she is
sense the flow of her intentions
the sexuality of her wholeness
slow dances through seasons
neither choices or reasons
leaves neither added
nor subtracted
understood as she came
she gives thoughtlessly
lays in rhymes
of scientific minds
remains on the vine
to live and die
of her own design
how can the divine
be only mine