the moon is the color of burnt glass
and the wind, a proximate murmur on our skins
gently, lovingly caressing our oneness-separateness
engulfing self and other in utter consumption.
shadow on shadow, meeting and parting in blasphemous conjunctions
even gods watching on clouds shiver with satisfaction.
tender waves lap on our toes, like angels’ touching
in their stark curiosity of flesh unto flesh
tasting our frenzied sins and oh and oh and ahhhh!
consumed – I
consuming – you
consumed, consuming
you, I – I, you
in the darkness, we open universes of exploding stars and infinitesimal moments of
creation, destruction, transformation. the dance of Shiva Nataraj on our groins
while we dance in the navel of Tranquility - OM.
OM Shanti.
tremendum et fascinans etched on our nakedness
and revelations of blinding light, illuminating the once-enfolding consciousness of US.
the fruit of Adam on my hand
the sword of Michael on yours
the eyes of the snake on the moon,
the color of burnt glass.
03152011
