CK Tower


But what a woman says to her lusting lover is best to
write in wind and swift-flowing water.


This sand slipping through my cupped palm, would
your lips be as tenderly abrasive?
Were it your mouth lapping at me as these
waves nip at bank, gritty restivity,
I might be stranger to their longing. This

breath that escapes, after every break, of
foamy fingers brushing against beach; would
not my gasping sighs call you back, to stroke
my own smooth shore? After the winds have spent
a day or more caressing limbs of wanton

softwoods, do they kiss them once more, before
dancing off to another dalliance? Would
you, me? My eyes search the multitudes, washed
up treasures smoothed by the continual
petting of sedulous waters. Might your

stroking, flush my rough edges? The sun finds
itself obscured by clouds, yet seeks my flesh,
ever belligerent to burn. Were you to
come to me cloaked in those swarthy trappings,
I would welcome such a dusky eclipse.


...from desire I stagger towards enjoyment,
and getting that I languish again for desire.

-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

That pale slip of curved moon is my heart pressed
back by black lashes of space, separating
my half-soul from yours. I have tried to close
my mind to the petting breeze, which brushes
clouds past that distant luminary.
It reminds me too much of your whispering

breath, more inhalable emotion. I am
only a waning light without your touch, as
is this pallid celestial, who sulks
unable to reach past the dusk and space
to the heavenly body below. I
embrace the cravings of my dim midnight

companion, carve out my own palpable
desires; opalescent breaths. My sighs
mingled with its milky susurrations,
an offering to you, on this silken
breeze. This, till we are joined again, inside
that full-bodied light, our longings eclipsed.

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