Your presence fits you firmly.
You come forth from deep within you.
You are tactile rain forest that envelops me
yet you give no passage
in a pore-to-pore way.
Rather you compel an electric riddle
to purge me from within.
If this were sexual, we could dismiss it.
If you were of intentions,
I could judge and blame.
Who pushes us through these bodies
uses our speech as lush-sinuous bullwhips
on the pack mules of our meaning
bearing the talons of allure
and the barbs of titillation?
Who uses our gestures as slow evocatives,
as launching pads
for a thousand pink pelicans
to circle-rise the space around us?
Who forces upon us displaying facets
of subtle blush and fanciful light
that inwardly reflects for both of us
upon the surface of something
more impending than coincidence
yet lands quite separately in each of us
as yet, unshared thought?
Who uses our bones
as electrified drum sticks,
hot in each other’s hands,
keeping time away from interfering?
Who obsesses us
towards the rubbing of skin to skin,
to sooth the delivery
of encoded primal messages?
For what is it about our rational minds, yours and mine, that holds us in
restraint,
withheld from wailing our soul-fill of sounds
permitting us only
a toiling towards vibration,
where now, in each of us,
ten thousand frenetic nerve-appendages
pound out rhythms with the slippery-hands
of our attention spans?
Who then uses our passivity
to fan the smoldering of internal forces
that march in place in tai chi ways
and look toward inward skies
for unknown signs
and allies that hid amongst the alibis?
Who uses our interludes of silence
to bring to our fingers,
the patience of delicious touch
from high-powered trigger-fingers,
stilled with scintillating anticipation,
wanting for breath to settle down,
for focus to come clear,
and for the fire to burst forth
into imaginary physical flames?
Yet, who deeply and invisibly sways us
that we would never question
as resolute of being?
For beyond anticipation's call to our minds,
the grinding down on carnality
is a shriekish thing,
a blathering towards whole.
This clamor we have
for taking off our separation
yet no promises of shadows,
for where we are taken,
in this shared chamber
of the beckoning . . .
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