Tag Archive: sensuality


Sandy Stars

The crisp scent of the mint keeps the pinks at bay
For want of a softer light I pray for rain
In vain since time in memorial less a mountain
Than a collage of sleepily filtered photos
The sand polishes both our bodies I have
Never felt more alive than now
Tickled in ocean spray
Under this moonlight
A splice in the dark
Your breathing takes me
Vague sculpted feet
In the wet beach
Silken sexy surf
Rolls on silica
Diamonds on black
As stars go so suns
Whether night or day
To where you are
Light years so far
Yet so finely lit constellate away
Bodies alive of so many colors
The delicious warmth of white foamy water washes over my feet
In the pitch darkness your breath cooler on my neck
Suddenly reminds my that sky is boundless
Much bluer by day hotter in need of rain
Pepper or spearmint oil
To keep the pinks at bay

© Chagall ∞

She, the Zephyr

I am intrigued by her etcetera,
the ellipsis she dangles without
modifier, the comma of her petulant
being, the subtle contour of her fonts,
the page she splays open while she sings
hymns to the bare branch, the storm
she incites with mere thought. She needs
no blessing nor permission to spin
maniacally as she pleases, a dervish,
a twirl.

© Chagall ∞

Calliope for Satie

She is comprised solely
of essential oils, lovely
silken flow, pistons in valve
lubricant, stamens on pistil,
pollen swollen anthers, she wills
the will of the wisp to do
her bidding, she calls sweetly
through the nightbird, coopts
its thin coiled chord to vocalize,
to trill appoggiatura.

I relax limb and tenon about her,
promenade on wrists and knees:
gymnopédie as it was meant to be,
arched, pointed, and flexed.

© Chagall ∞

Splice

The light is soft here as if all the world is heather
askance, atilt and askew. I stare at a door ajar
that invites me to slip in now and then, and I do.
I float on a tone, bulbous sound beats against time
measured in gulps, a three-quarter waltz paced regularly
when I least expect it to. I wish you eternal lavender.
Life offers life on the gentlest of palms below the wrists’
hollows so slender and kissable. Cheeks intended for cupping
dimple and provoke the protrusion of lips for tugging, to daub,
pull and pout. The colors around me begin to lose their soft-edge,
sadly. I hear the click of the door lock, not certain which side I am on.
On the down beat I gracefully swoop with torque and suspension,
sinew and skin and blood, at work in miraculous union.

© Chagall 2017

Sara of Beautiful Rain

Small letters alight on her lashes, tiny poetry about her eyes
Kisses of ancient rhythm, a pucker for a flame stoked
Each blink the turn of a page reveals whole worlds
Every breath has meaning, those lighter than air defy gravity
Limericks line her brow when she laughs
When she sighs I trace my lips along the long volta of her neckline
Where her sonnets turn around
Down her arms flow three-letter words, we are kids again
Awash in primary colors, hands waving wildly at tickles
Dancing about in a spray, we drink water from a hose
There are symbols dangling from her ears that I do not recognize
Baubles of mystery; I linger there eschewing translation.

© Chagall 2016

 

A Fine Long Tickle

So adept her foiling the mesh like that
snared prolific beneath too many stories
nearly bad endings

Some torque at the hip wrenches her thrusts
she needs to invigorate tightening tendons
to stretch wider slowly, more lazy laterally

So all is forgiven though all is so lost
also and again yet again

I watch her in profile, breathlessly arced
above her off-shoulder, a continuum of rounded
embankment, her body cut luscious
arcades where we play bathed solely
high windows tint green
afternoon trees, warm breezes
the eve of special days

Chagall 2016

Tell Me About Her

Colored beads cover every atom of her surface
skin to halo collisions create misty aura

En pointe her tenons convey the brace of hearts,
on flex she sighs as she stretches that about her which is ground –
not earth, but the space against her figure where existence breaks into outline
against the void she enables

She hurtles through space, falls at the same pace
as mystifying tendencies there on the outskirts

My fingers trace her hem to a chorus of Amen
remnants of older chants echo about us

There is sadness in her beauty
melancholia piques her desire

We find random wonderful happenstance
perfect such that there’s no need for change
so we will time to stop to persist every aspect
to christen Us as timeless

Together we as twin stars bare
heavier atoms still

Chagall 2015

Optical Collusion

Too much optimism is cloying
while actuality is not quite as stark
as the realists might think

There is truth in the ground
but one needs to make figure
go away to see dark matter

The two profiles are the urn
a kiss creates then spills an ewer of honey
making for sticky back and fore grounds

Your aroma is metal, flinty
yet underneath sweet like talc
provoked aflame you are caramel

Stretched, kept in contact too long we fuse
the undersides along the length of our arms
our bellies plus our thighs adhere

Erasing the lines that define us
we become amorphous form with shading

Chagall 2016

Ça veut dire

No rattle less hum –
breathless longer than planned

she glides with the softest
of leads less than air really

Les couloirs
she says pointing, excites many meanings

She knows I pretend I’m unsure
that I’ve heard her correctly

Chagall 2016

Before time there wasn’t only
incessant heartbeat

Humans though water are merely steam
no less of all things

The moment before you knocked
the door swings open wide: you arrive

The ones already in search continue
long before you’re here

And wordless reads best
though you can’t remember

I relish the sizzle
when we meet ice

How we burn
underneath the numb

Chagall 2016

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