Never mind. The self is the least of it. Let our scars fall in love.
The kiss swims in
the water’s consuming flow--
with the tenacity of a liquid
waves of deep pinkish orange
luminescence wrap around
a woman’s torso like the
tentacles of an octopus’s charm.
Chaotic-- black ink clouds explode and
her lover vanishes amidst the coral,
escaping into liquid velvet charm.
The solitary storm darkens with an eerie
silence turning pain into a wild serpent;
the raw tale of the soul
flips and propels through
the watchful waters, searching for
the will of need. Tongues reach
for a thousand reasons,
bubbles of screaming questions
surface and the
heart of the creature finds
the reasons for demanding oxygen.
The undertow rolls and
curses in twisting whirlpools
of resolution and
is sucked into a green
undercurrent of truth.
Awareness swimming to the
questioning consistency of the shore.
Rising from the dark depth
of the primordial ocean,
a burning sunrise glows naked,
a single soul stands beside a barren
pagoda, with fresh toes digging into the
desert’s warmth, whispering
what has happened to my love?