it's winter; the world is white, and it's almost too dark to see
your figure: there's an inferno, a maelstrom of snow -
the sharp, spiteful, stinging kind. amongst it all,
there's silence, and yet a thickness, a tension,
like the world is tuning: bows tightening, the
keen strain of hair against wood; the faint and rustic tones
of a flute; the blooming darkness of the brass -
and there's a hue to it, a quiet, blossoming transfusion
of sweet, secret sound. and then I hear you:
you're as clear as my footsteps against the snow, yet cautious -
I've never seen you before, and the snow hits your face
like dust, the same way it hits mine, reddened a little
by the ice. but you're still obscured - I don't know you -
does that matter? I hear your breath, stranger, the
odd and curious, uneven outward breaths -
the whispers of your beating heart. in this moment,
it's mine - we're alone together, it's dark and the snow
bites us two just the same, and I can hear your breathing,
and you mine, like a kiss. I don't know you, stranger,
but I know your pulse, I know your heartbeat - isn't that more? --
and then you're close to me, quite suddenly, and the snowflakes
are convulsions, warped tumults, contortions -
and our eyes catch: blue meets blue, and something flickers,
a glimmer across the azure - and then it's a flame, a blaze
which hits me with the heat of prometheus' hands, scours
my face, and those hands - god, I can feel them running
through my hair, the heat of your breath against my neck -
and we're aflame, all it takes is an outward breath
and I'm yours in the snow and the dawn's light, stranger,
it casts streaks of searing orange light against your nose, your cheeks -
we burn together - i'll learn the contours of your hands -
the gentle, sweeping arc of thumb to palm, your fingers -
all from a breath, stranger: that's it, we're married
in a union of fire and flesh and fingerprints
and it's consuming me, three heavenly seconds -
a contraction, then explosion of the snow and the sun and
the earth and the moon and the heart and the soul and the spirit and
scalding passion pain pleasure power plea p r a y e r
and then there's silence.
you walk on,
alone,
and the flakes cover the template
of your feet on the asphalt
like neither of us were ever here.
cold diffuses across the space
where the warmth of our blood
met in one body.
the embrace.
a golden Klimt kiss
of particles and air and dust
and ash.
2 Comments
mayfly
I’m in love with this, gorgeous detail work in your work choice and the imagery set my brain on fire (in a good way) lovely!!!
Kenny
This is P O W E R F U L