Beauty Walks

2015/01/img_13951.jpg
Maybe you
were the first groove laid down.
The template.

The exposition
that became a story
in itself.

Maybe this
is the one
that was meant to be told
all along.

Our bed is a boat
on the Sea of Cortez.
The bay is silent, dark with moonlight
and the howls of dogs,
entranced by the romance
of a coyote.
I replay
within the old tape deck of my heart
Frida’s longing for Diego.

Nighttime turns and tosses
to the pulse
of Earth’s blood;
the sea.
Her tide is overflowing
into salt beds,
veins of white upon the land.

I float
in your strong arms,
safe and secure,
luxuriating in scents of pipe smoke
and sheepskin,
deliriously content.

Beauty walks
beneath my eyelids,
master works of ethereal colors frescoed
in sacred brush strokes
upon the cave walls
of my dreaming mind.

Being with you
feels just like coming home
to a place
I never was before.