Dancing at the edge of my mind
still the thought
of how exquisite it was
to make love to you
is present within me.
Waking or sleeping,
even as I struggle,
I return
to caress
those moments
that are archived within my body’s awareness,
the way I used to caress your face,
so lovingly.
It was not madness,
nor is it now.
Just the thrill
of being human.

So Good

I remember the first time I was drowning
and a man saved me
with his body.
His skin pressed against my own, warming me from the bone chill of the deep.
His mouth on mine
breathing life into me
with his kiss.

He could not have known
that I was falling off the blurry edge
of my own mind.
But I know he felt the weight of me in his arms.
“You scared me last night” he said.
He did not quite explain,
but i think he sensed
my latent panic, the way I clung fast to him like a lifeboat,
hoping he would row me to shore
with his big strong arms.

I had travelled too far within myself that year
and I learned that even incoherence has its pattern.
I entered the dark forest of the shadow world
and recognized its wayward roads.
I forged new pathways through dense brush,
focused my compass to the direction of my heart,
made myself a map.
Eventually I walked out
by my own navigation,
into the clear light
of day.

But I carry with me
knowledge of where I’ve been.

Sometimes I wake
in the middle of the night,
gasping for air,
suffocated by dreams
of being submerged
in the vast well
of life’s sadnesses.
I lie awake worrying that maybe I could drown again,
if the currents
were strong enough.

Now I am solid,
centered in myself,
in this world.

But still I make love
with the feeling that I could dissolve
at any moment.
As though i might break against the rocks of life,
if not for the corporeal form
of the one I am holding in my hands
like a sensate anchor.
My passion is epic
and tragic,
like that of one who is dying
for the blissful wonder of life,
full of yearning to touch
the immaterial
and not let it go.

And that is why I fuck
so good.