Status Updates From Intimate Kisses: The Poetry...

Far off, as if in a dream,
echoed the words of the poet—
What is it that matters?
What is it that lasts?

What consumes him now is the myth of lovers
long at it. Desire as it lives close to the light.
How after swimming in the late afternoon
as he dried her back she turned to him
stunned by her need, him again
surprised when he entered her, still
carefully searching the map of her,
both of them seeking a perfection they know
doesn't exist but insisting like all lovers
again and again on its possibility.

An orange on the table
Your dress on the rug
And you in my bed
Sweet present of the present
Cool of night
Warmth of my life.

I have been hours awake looking at you 
 lithely at rest in the free
natural way rivers bend and clouds shape. 

 
I give you my tongue, 
and the word it has for you, 
and the pleasure it has for you 
as I speak silently 
to your body, 
as I speak along the arc of your breast, 
 through the cadence of your ribs, 
 over the plain of your belly 
and into the warm rain between your thighs, 
into you. 

And I would be the moon

spoken over your beckoning flesh

breaking against reservations
beaching thought
my hands at your high tide

over and under inside you

and the passing of hungers
attended, forgotten. 



Darkly risen
the moon speaks
my eyes
judging your roundness
delightful.

Audre Lorde


I want to love you with every piece of this body:
I want these strong and simple hands to divine

each delicate sound inside of you; I want
these faithful legs to gallop at midnight

through the sleeping orchards of your heart;

I want these eyes, these singing eyes

that have survived the brutal clocks, the days

lost in daily space, to blossom in some high bed

of human heaven 





What Makes it Good



isn’t

the mystery or masterly technique

or even a love so strong
you can smash bricks with it



it’s

the spinning waters way i feel
when you grab me by the eyes

and slip your thin black panties

off

david meuel


And in the night,
weaving in and out of sleep,
in and out of consciousness -
every time to fid you
folded in my arms -
wrapped up like a present
we are giving to each other.

(Jay Farbstein)

Alicante

An orange on the table
Your dress on the rug
And you in my bed
Sweet present of the present
Cool of night
Warmth of my life.

Jacques Prévert

(translated from the French by Lawrence Ferlinghetti)

Darkly risen
the moon speaks
my eyes
judging your roundness
delightful.

Audre Lorde

Spring overall. But inside us
there's another unity.

Behind each eye here,
one glowing weather.

Every forest branch moves differently
in the breeze, but as they sway
they connect at the roots.

(Jelaluddin Rumi)

My hands
open the curtains of your being
clothe you in a further nudity
uncover the bodies of your body
My hands
invent another body for your body

Octavio Paz

Are my eyes too bright? Is my head too high?
Or does it really show, that kiss - does it sit on my
lips like a moth
on a leaf, has your kiss blossomed on my mouth
into a scarlet flower?

Walter Benton

My nerves are turned on. I hear them like
musical instruments. Where there was silence
the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You
did this.
Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has
stepped
into fire.

(Anne Sexton, The kiss)

Spring paints the countryside.
Cypress trees grow even more beautiful,
but let’s stay inside.

Lock the door.
Come to me naked.
No one’s here.

- Rumi

Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -
Ah - the Sea!
Might I but moor - tonight -
In thee!

(Emily Dickinson)