raindrops

see how i dance. my legs. and muscles. and the brown. against the magic of wood. a generous tap. and swirl. like a swivel. or a spiral. like steps. or a stairwell of blue. like a chest of water bubbles. so fluid. it's as if you stand on a marble top. glazed with irony. and watch the saliva. trickle down your lips. treading down. in lumps and bumps. down your curve. of melting face. and by your chin. it drops to void. a space of dust. of dangerous germ. of naked parsimony. of reckless story tellers. who roll their meat. in a voluptuous lull. and a carousing swirl. your fingertips. clenched. to the sound of drums. beating. in concordance. resonating. those sticks on skin are made of wax. of sensuous paraffin. your gentle touch. which gave her joy. your mother. who died of sweat. and seduction. that game of cancer.

this is for the moon gods. your beautiful milk. with patchwork artistry. of shaven bronze or rustic gold. or dazzling silver. the radiance of your flesh. flickering behind rain clouds. the sheet of dust entangles your rhyme. as you dance in the darkness. my nails on your flesh. scratching your breast. i am jealous of your beauty. the architecture of dreams. and the carpet you lay from your tongue to toe. this earth. this bowl of blue. and grass and seed. for across the ferry trails. and fairy tales. and the jargon of desires. the beating heart and eye balls. mascaraed to the crisp of twirling sexuality. is seeking your love. for he forgets. today. yesterday and tomorrow. of your pendulous skin. anemic tonight. you look pale. are you afraid that in a matter of clockwork your shade will gray? slipping away. day by day. second by second. into quiet nigritude. for when the swivel spins. you will lift your face. fair speckles of ivory trills. like a garland of pearls will appear on your forehead. as you unmask the coal that peppers your cheek. this is the time for the holy trinity. or the idols of dawn to talk religion. for when came christ to the cavity of sand? did you make sandcastles out of air? little glass clusters of sheen. and mica. the creator. your creator. my creator. are made from ribs. of your cosmic death. each day. as you lay the leaves of freedom.

beyond the line and the temple of time. there is a porch. engraved is your name in blood from the hounds that destroyed virtue. adam and his eve. where? in the caves of vienna or by the seine or the naked hudson gushing down the tempera of yolk. this yolk. you shameless fool, you stole from the dandelions. yawning with your destiny