Gasps of Conjunctions

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