-- it's romantic at first,
falling placing lifting moving
'til you always end-up where your surging fugues
swell into a luminous present
-- still, in the infinity engulfing each breath,
is a sacred longing,
a lingering lament,
and we persist in the worship of each
step that we take for loves sake
-- and it has always been about you, and the love at last, that we make...
then, when your heart finally bursts,
you'll see lotus petals undulating
with an inner tessellation of light,
blossoming from the visceral pain
of those old desperate-separations:
I'll be waiting for you
screaming from deep inside,
and it feels like a stake
through the chest,
surely, you can divine the rest ...
to linger with a lover,
worship in the twirl of her hair,
is called cafuné;
while to loaf alone,
a silent-witness to all 'this,'
is to surge with the urge-to-merge,
in longing for that kiss...