I drift wearily in soft flame,
Spectres flitting on the walls
Of a midnight mind.
The flute of ancient peoples
Vibrates my stillness with
A forgotten chord
As my folds of flesh,
Yet hot and wet from my Lifebath,
Sink into a pool of cotton and down.
A whisper in the tone
[or is it a tugging from the night]
Triggers that happy grin which
Melts my exhausted physiognomy
To something comic.
A comfortable burning
Manifests in my heart Mind
Lungs waxing waltzing upward outward,
Until along that Chord
Your breath greets my lips,
Your fingers slip into skin veins bone,
[a wind without my walls haunting howls]
And for a droplet’s splash of
Soulpurr sighing merger
I Reveal myself,
Shadowwalking
Souldancing
Washing betwixt within your depths.
Releasing fear, releasing joy,
With calm acceptance of our currents,
Immersing myself in your
Companion sea of life,
Laughing splashing riding
The ripples of our Joining....
The wind is dead now,
As is the flute....
But my grin remains
Despite the ebbing of your tide
From my shiver resting form.
I massage many ponderings
In my floating consciousness.
There is much the future shall bring
Upon your pulse rose caressable arrival...
