There is an order to be followed
to reach the core . . .
Seeing what is there,
hearing who it is,
smelling her (or him),
fucking: bodies entwined
in sensual dance with overlay
of love’s flow until it moves
into the alluring coming together
of yours, hers (his) . . . palpable
rhetoric gone the way
of arousal, penetration
by penis or tongue . . . what use
to distinguish the figures of sad
endings within the pain
She is singing with all her body,
. . . is this where we go
to be blue, triste, "mis joyas" . . .
In the round night
the flat day
fills out the house, its walls,
its skull, wandering fingers
rubbing as deeply into the lines
of her skin where the floor rises
to meet the light
when windows open, as do doors.
She wears on her ears
what she hears jangling moving
as though she were dancing
and the soft, round, beloved light
glints reflecting the wear of her skin
and how she lets all of her live . . .
There are some places
in this world you never leave.
Go away as far as here
unable to lose her memory:
let her live in you
(13 May 2011)
copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander