"What is your oldest memory", she once asked me, even as she coiled herself around me, "of me?"
The hands of lovers are more than that; have you noticed. Watch, the next time, you have lovers before you, or you are with your lover, see how more than hands the hands of lovers are. Notice, if you will, how they hold each other, the way they rest and stroke and caress, soothe and hurt, and once again restore love and comfort. Lovers-hands are dancers all unto themselves.
"Why do you go away from me", she once asked me, even as she unlatched her jaws to swallow me entire, "so abruptly, so unkindly?"
The waves dance, have always danced and will always dance. To their own tune. The moon sings, as if in silent Gaelic, and there is a joyous stirring in the heart of the ocean. On those nights, I think endlessly of you, and sleep is banished. But the moon sings every night, so every night I think endlessly of you. Now, I am weary and must fall into repose.
"What is the most worthy thing, the most precious trinket", she once asked me, even as I went into her, "that you have gleaned from existing on this planet this time around?"
There is nothing left to learn from men. But, make cats your Gods again. And sit with flowers in your lap. If everybody was high all of the time, there would only be rejoicing and man would transcend or stumble into bliss. It is in letting go that much is gained. And if nothing else, serve love. Follow shamans and madmen, because you may atleast have a day of joy than decades upon decades of misery and grief flailing about within society.
The hands of lovers are more than that; have you noticed. Watch, the next time, you have lovers before you, or you are with your lover, see how more than hands the hands of lovers are. Notice, if you will, how they hold each other, the way they rest and stroke and caress, soothe and hurt, and once again restore love and comfort. Lovers-hands are dancers all unto themselves.
"Why do you go away from me", she once asked me, even as she unlatched her jaws to swallow me entire, "so abruptly, so unkindly?"
The waves dance, have always danced and will always dance. To their own tune. The moon sings, as if in silent Gaelic, and there is a joyous stirring in the heart of the ocean. On those nights, I think endlessly of you, and sleep is banished. But the moon sings every night, so every night I think endlessly of you. Now, I am weary and must fall into repose.
"What is the most worthy thing, the most precious trinket", she once asked me, even as I went into her, "that you have gleaned from existing on this planet this time around?"
There is nothing left to learn from men. But, make cats your Gods again. And sit with flowers in your lap. If everybody was high all of the time, there would only be rejoicing and man would transcend or stumble into bliss. It is in letting go that much is gained. And if nothing else, serve love. Follow shamans and madmen, because you may atleast have a day of joy than decades upon decades of misery and grief flailing about within society.
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2 comments:
very nice..
:)
Thanks for the link, Miiah!
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