Hibiscus Dreams

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It was

a fever state,

hot and delirious;

being in love.

 

Love was a febrile hallucination, a trick of the mind.

Lurid colors, vivid imagery, rich emotion,

desperate beauty;

a haunting vision

that can’t be unseen.

 

Our bodies were tumid fruit

that ripened

in the sultriness

of love’s summer.

We gorged ourselves on textures and tastes;

the enchanting sweetness of lust,

the decorous tartness

of impatient longing.

The sumptuous spice

of passionate encounters.

The bitter sourness of ugly hurts,

dark moments that crystallized

into insidious weeds

and took root in the space between us;

that gave the kiss of death

to our hibiscus dreams.

 

In the cool blue light

of nighttime,

I feel inside myself

for you,

caressing the empty spaces

where your memory lies;

teasing at the edges of loss,

touching the pleasure that remains.

 

I blossom endlessly with wanting,

love’s eternal flower,

red petaled,

bright and pretty,

subtly fragrant.

I am one

who dreams of you:

the bee

that stung me.

We Watched A Falling Star

 
 I was so tender-hearted 

when I loved you,

years ago in a Northern hamlet

by a glacial lake.
My hopes for love 

were still intact then

noble and sacred edifices

constructed from an ancient narrative;

grand yet vulnerable 

like the Buddhist statues at Bamiyan

before they were destroyed.
We watched 

that star fall together,

one night when we sat

in thoughtful companionship by the lake edge.

Deer crept stealthily through the pines behind us

and we watched it

swirl across the sky 

like 4th of July fireworks,

then plummet.
Now my heart knows

what can happen

to majestic things.
Though I no longer hope

for you,

I still 

remember

everything.

Beauty Walks

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Maybe you
were the first groove laid down.
The template.

The exposition
that became a story
in itself.

Maybe this
is the one
that was meant to be told
all along.

Our bed is a boat
on the Sea of Cortez.
The bay is silent, dark with moonlight
and the howls of dogs,
entranced by the romance
of a coyote.
I replay
within the old tape deck of my heart
Frida’s longing for Diego.

Nighttime turns and tosses
to the pulse
of Earth’s blood;
the sea.
Her tide is overflowing
into salt beds,
veins of white upon the land.

I float
in your strong arms,
safe and secure,
luxuriating in scents of pipe smoke
and sheepskin,
deliriously content.

Beauty walks
beneath my eyelids,
master works of ethereal colors frescoed
in sacred brush strokes
upon the cave walls
of my dreaming mind.

Being with you
feels just like coming home
to a place
I never was before.

Master Shaman

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I don’t know how to describe the way

you beckoned me

with the subtle gestures

of your dreaming

back to you,

back to your tribe.

I just know

that you showed up one day,

in your black pick up truck.

You came for me,

feigning shyness in such a genuine manner

that it matched my own.

I greeted you in pale pink.

You embraced me, grasped my hands in yours,

and your wrists were adorned with silver and turquoise.

Your voice was soft and worn

as an ancient whisper,

gravelly with desert sand

and the language of the mesas,

the rhythmic intonations

of your native tongue.

I was struck

with the strangeness

of how familiar you were,

even despite the fact

that I had never really known you

that well.

Yet I felt the presence of my old love

lingering inside you like a shadow.

He was there with you

even as he wasn’t.

Like a father and son,

like Er and Judah

with Tamar.

I knew

about your powers.

I knew

you could see,

with eyes of

visionary artistry,

the invisible threads,

the divine loom,

the sacred weaving

that holds this mysterious tapestry

of life

sewn together,

as I do.

In your letters,

you described to me,

with exquisite detail and accuracy,

the adornment of my own inner corridors and rooms,

the delicate landscape of my imagination.

You journeyed with me

inside that realm,

a Master Shaman.

You were an unexpected gift,

a medicine

for my heart.

I did not imagine

that my past

would return

to claim me,

that I was still

so cherished.

When you held me close,

I breathed deep

of the warm depths of my personal history,

feeling your love,

enveloping, expansive,

doubled by its hidden twin.

Like an old lover coming back for more.
Just what fits.

Lost Love

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I wandered
lost,
in a fantasy
of love,
thick like a forest
with twisted branches and hidden paths,
with fairy dust that illuminated foliage in the morning, like dew.
And the howls of strange monsters that echoed through the land
as dusk fell
into night.
Dream
or nightmare,
this was
my own heart of darkness,
my own Amazon jungle,
with you
as my guide,
native to
this beautiful depravity.

I am lost still
in you.

Hoping to find
my way
to love.