Rain Transfer

history surging up behind
of inventions by fore-fathers
of poetry
which rains from your vocal chords
through distant dry air
past feilds of middles
into the sleeping flesh of Preistess
who begs to be nailed down
to yr martyrdom of sensuality

in shivering I am conquerer
victorious in weakness

"God you are beautiful."

body races like heated blood
cooked and boiling
trembling trees break the Silence
we remind self to think in jest
jest to make this easier
that it might not pain to death
this feather touch we have
which, unfelt, is a long distance

trigger in me something
peacfully monsterous
desire and calm
and I fantasize about night one

Night One:

I will ask that we don't make love. I will ask that you kiss me for hours, that
you touch every part of my desirous, fire body with your hands. Yr hands
have been writ with oxygen. You will want me as badly as I want you, to
be inside with love. We will want to know that waiting. Awake all night, until
your Sun arrives, beyond. I will clutch to you like it were still raining, for
warmth, for pleasure, to be in dry warm bed love. Let the rain come upon the
Second Night. When you will have this power engulf you, taking you in it's tide.
Training in breathy sighs and sounds that slip past my lips, you will fulfill the
deed in flesh upon mine. We will eat our love and re-send our sexualities to
the sky, and we will witdraw from it forever, constantly. It will be thick with
lust and transmitted by certainty into space where we take bites from the fruit
long after these seeds have been planted.