The Nectar Of Her Neck

                   I

The tip of the grass was yellow
The root of the grass was green
They waved at me like water in winter
And I waved back just glad at being seen
The words rolled back
Dyeing my tongue
Like a dry river

Rocks and pebbles
Fishbones and silt
Traced my thorax
Grinding my guilt
So I could swallow and wallow 
The echo of oars
Belonging to those ancient mariners before me
Who sought loneliness 
And found it
One step before horizon 


                II


In my dream
I pool out from the fissure of earth
After a midlife rebirth
Gleaming, polished, welted and wet
Watching the woman holding my fate
Nestled like a flower
Asleep in my rubicon arms
Dreaming of fragrance 
At once tender and torn;
Oh to be born beautiful 
And in all beauties, a unicorn,
In my mythical ache
I keep this universe at stake
For it’s brutal to awake
When I am so brittle to break.                            

It is night
But the dark shines
A soft black
Such perceptible blindness 
Such untouchable familiarity 
Should I succumb to the magic touch?
Drawn like a dying man to the nectar of her neck 
Should I summarise eons of my afterthoughts in an afternoon with her?
And let her reciprocate the same
On a kohl claimed evening 
So my ashtray mind
Can drift 
And ignite 
My field of dreams 
A purple blue;
That colour of a newfound forgetfulness 
Unnoticed to the irises of her eyes.

I dim and she shimmers
As we dance in the glass case
She; of velvet toes
And I; of rubber gloves 
With her hand in my hand
Like time through sand
Passing, and staying
This melting portrait 
Of our memories 
And I am aware, suddenly,
At the soft sweetness of everything 
That percolates into the inchoate perfection 
Wavering and waiting to crystallise in our kiss;
I lean in
And the world holds still
Till another breath finds me
And it feels what I feel