Offering

the kindness of libation, lyric, and blood

her endless notes  notes left for me --
                                                        little secrets, graces --
                                   trills recorded on blue and purple parchment
to be lipped, tasted, devoured --

only essence remains --
               its stickiness, its juice, its memory

seamless juxtaposition --
              the brute and the passion,
                    dry of the bone and wet of the sea,
coarseness of the page and smooth of the nib's iridium

I try and trace a line, a very long line --

               the ink blots
                      as this line's linear edges
dissolve and fray --

like capillary threads
               gone mad
                     twirling in the deep heat of the tropics --

threads unravelling,
              each sinew tense with the want of moisture
and the other's flesh

there are no endings here --
only beginnings --

                     precious incipience

translucent drops of sweat
             perched precariously on her collar-bone
                                                                 waiting to slide,

roll unannounced into the gulleys
that yearn to soak in the rain --

heart beat shift
the shape of globules
                     as they enter their balance and colour,
changing their very point of gravity --

constantly deceiving the other

I stand, wanting --
             wanting more of the bone's dry edge,
the infinite blur of desire,

                                                               the dream,

              the wet, the salt, the ink,

and                                              the underside of her skin