Blood on the Page

"See the storm set in your eyes,

 see the thorn twist in your side,

 and I wait, for you...

 Sleight of hand and twist of fate,

 On a bed of nails, she makes me wait,

 And I wait, without you..." - (U2, "With or Without You")

Every now and again, I lose my mind and write a poem.  I’m no poet, but sometimes I just can’t stop my fingers from typing out poetry, usually to some misbegotten slut whom I’ve romanticized into the Virgin Mary.  Parts of this I can only recognize as “not me”, so I imagine that what I did here was an off the cuff, major re-write of some more-than-half-forgotten sonnet that I read someplace twenty years ago.  (Im pretty darn sure it was me, and not Keats or Byron though, who penned the line about "my whore is a goddess who enslaves me in her surrender".)

We all have our weaknesses.  Mine are just more tawdry than some people’s.

(no title)

What gives life to my body and to my soul?

What animates my words?

What is the source of light shining in my eyes?

Hidden in my heart, my beloved dances,

And the sight of her dancing there,

is what breathes the breath of life within me.

I will bring you roses, for I have gathered many thorns

in a lifetime of searching for you,

And because now, every flower in the world has your fragrance.

Be with me now, after hiding so long,

And open the door to your heart for me.

I am intoxicated by your beauty,

I wish to see you with ten thousand eyes,

To abandon sobriety and become drunk on the look of you,

Until I am blinded in the vision of your beauty.

When I am inside you,

It is not my body, but my soul,

that screams in ecstasy.

My whore is a goddess,

who enslaves me in her surrender.

My beloved dances,

And her rhythm is the beating of my heart.

All the music of Heaven plays, that my beloved may dance

her dance upon the earth,

but she dances to the rhythm of my heart,

because her heart has lost itself in mine.

Lover, Beloved, and Love have found each other

Her kiss has awakened me from death, drenched in her desire,

The touch of my hand has released her from prison, filled up with my passion,

And Love itself has intertwined our hearts.

We live in the enchanted place,

And with every breath and thought and word and touch,

we make love in each moment.