Sunday, November 25, 2007

golden apple

his soul sings silently,
in gauzy and golden light
my heart impales itself
on this melody
my soul cleaves
to his lyrical luminescence

his great, flowing essence
quenches my thirst ~
this scorching yen
that scars
of successive past lives
have woven
into my very essence

he washes me
away from myself
leaving me bare,
somewhat macerated and bare
exposed ~
for all my frailties and wounds
... he sees ... he knows ...
he hears the whispers of the universe, too

that sacred light
of his core
flickers softly,
and with each flash,
he carves
another spark
into my weak, low-burning ember

in the glow of his mantle
his innocent generosity cascades
scented with divine wisdom
the beauty of him
touches that raw, pulsing
and forbidden corner of my heart
which eats fire

cherished ~
the grace of his movements ~
cherished ~
the gentle contemplation
of his speech
cherished ~
my golden apple


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