Lost

Perhaps I was

cardamom

in your coffee,

scent of cinnamon

after too long;

spice of life.

Yet for you

I traversed

the Silk Roads,

entered tribal lands,

became lost.

Sacred songs

encircled me,

of wildness

and love,

holy longing.

In this desert,

arid and mysterious,

your lips

are like

water.

Are you an oasis

or mirage?

I cannot tell.

Still, I drink deeply

of you,

subsisting on

memories;

your lingering reflection

in this shimmery well

of dreams.

Treasure

pexels-photo-487723You are a jewel

within the treasure chest

of my heart.

You are my topaz,

set in crushed red velvet.

You are my secret

that I have locked away.

A forbidden love,

too decadent

to reveal.

 

You charmed me

like a snake

in the dark ethereal woods

of Vrindavan.

 

I was a curvy goddess

of ruby lips,

creamy moonstone breasts,

liquid gold

between my thighs,

who got fucked

by a god

in a dream

and awoke

to an empty bed.

 

Yet my tears

become stones.

Wondrous precious stones.

 

They shine within me,

opalescent with hope.

A whisper, kyanite flecked,

a rose quartz-hued ache,

obsidian longing,

black and deep.

 

Hidden beneath my clothes,

I wear

an alabaster cameo

carved in your image.

The memory of you

pressed against my warm skin.

I can still feel

your mouth on mine,

can still hear

the faraway sound

of your approach,

your amorous

flutesong.

 

 

 

 

 

We Watched A Falling Star

 
 I was so tender-hearted 

when I loved you,

years ago in a Northern hamlet

by a glacial lake.
My hopes for love 

were still intact then

noble and sacred edifices

constructed from an ancient narrative;

grand yet vulnerable 

like the Buddhist statues at Bamiyan

before they were destroyed.
We watched 

that star fall together,

one night when we sat

in thoughtful companionship by the lake edge.

Deer crept stealthily through the pines behind us

and we watched it

swirl across the sky 

like 4th of July fireworks,

then plummet.
Now my heart knows

what can happen

to majestic things.
Though I no longer hope

for you,

I still 

remember

everything.

Dark Pleasure

A dark pleasure.

You were the one

to lead me

into this shadow dream.

You beckoned me

with your penetrating stare,

your high cheekboned haughtiness,

your eyes impassive and stony,

your cheeky necklace of carved bones.

You tantalized me

with omens and portents,

with aggressive kisses,

pretty words full of poison,

seductive lures.

Until I surrendered

eagerly

to your naked depravity.

You hijacked my body

like a thug,

breaking and entering,

violently taking over,

until all I wanted

was you.

Then you were an inside job.

You were inside me

and I needed you

to stay

with me.

I sought primal wholeness

in you,

like a snake eats its tail.

Like a shaman eats

the vine of the dead,

seeking completion

at the edge of the abyss.

La petite mort.

You annihilate me,

my lover,

yet still

I soar.

Dusky Rose

    
Do you still drink

of my succulence
in the hot July heat 
of a faraway dream,
my ethereal scent of geranium
rising from your night sweat,

a fragrant, poignant memory?
You know 

my taste is sweet,

that of plumeria honey.
Flowering in the sensate garden 

of my bed,

I turn towards you,
in vivid sleep.

You are my beloved ghost,
cradled in the flourishing vines
of my arms.

You may see me

as a Venus fly trap,
cunning and expedient.

But I am not that, no.
I am a dusky rose,

carefree and forgiving.
A beautiful flower,

unwittingly planted

in the dark soil

of your mind.
Pua Nani.