Opportunity

Five delicate petals have grown on the stem of the forearm, your hand. I kissed your hand leaf by leaf; and the petals of your fingertips slid over my lips as a sign of receiving as a sign of reply. Reply reply from your living world warm and passionate. The voices of a thousand streams of diamond shining and clear from the heart of your human galaxy flowed into the heart of my dead sun; through the pores of the skin of my lips... — a dancing wave of light in a darkness — a chandelier was lit on the landing of the damp stairway, in the opportunity stolen — by our hand — from the clutch of day night and day... This opportunity? This caress? A passionflower — a quince-pink, fresh flower — above the high wall above the useless columns of thorns; laughs with its whole mouth in your hand like this between my two lips its stalk playing with my tongue. — Play! This game is the most beautiful game in the world. Play with my lips with my mouth, and set the letters of your laughing caresses upon my tongue; so that when “speech” parts my lips, my words may only play the melody of your shining tenderness — quince-pink and laughing with the passionflower above the useless columns of thorns, playful is the scent of your flower virgin and calm in my breath... In this moment, stretching into yesterday and tomorrow; this moment like a vein of diamond amid the cooled lava on the distant slope of the volcano, and found like the pulse of an artery from the lost pasts to the mist of the future... This moment: a jewel of the sea of light fallen into my hand, from the lava of my days and nights. Where was this moment? If not in us? If not in our map? When we rolled under the stones of the pyramids when we burned in the crematorium furnace when we fell into the fire of unwanted missiles and when the volcano having melted us poured us from its throat, and the passing of dejected nights and days made stone of us; in all those moments it remained in our womb and took shape: a vein of diamond, an artery from the past to the present from the present toward the faint future. An artery in our being: this opportunity this dot on the line of the lips this kiss line, dot, line, dot... Without being destroyed in the terrible earthquake of separation in the earthquakes of distance. Nights of loneliness, loneliness, I listened to the voice of your embryo in my hidden being hidden in my womb. And I told myself — unbelieving — this is nothing but a mirage. I told myself this melody the clear melody is the echo of a dream concealed in a thirsty hiding place. I, thirsty. The concealed one blossomed! The mirage became a settlement! All the nights of loneliness, I, to the whisper of your embryo stirring in me, listened. And the space of my silent shell filled with the caresses of your precious pearl; a voice in the dark depths of the ocean. And on the map of that ocean, on the map of this constellation and this lava, in all, all of existence were engraved the kisses of the shell with the melody of the pearl’s reply engraved before us my kiss on your hand and your reply with the pressure of your loving fingertips on the page of my lips. These are the whispers of a game with the stolen opportunity — after yesterday, before tomorrow — on the landing of the damp stairway. Play! Play! with my mouth with my lips with the pulses of your diamond vein with the depth of my womb...