Red candles rage like volcanoes...... The doors that opened to problems— drafts, anxieties— slam shut........ Rose petals from our hands— scarlet boats in a sea of merchant ships........ And we— swimming, in our twilight thick with fragrance, bathing in white spaces— vast, whispering in a chorus of whispers and along the breath-lines that have become processions........ The sea will not divide fairly— anchor chain tangled with anchor chain ships knotted there, inextricable........ The body burns violently but does not melt—that is all........ I scorn the plots of fairy tales, yet: you are a soldier in love with beauty, I am your ballerina from the palace........ and I am drawn by love's wind toward the burning. It sounds as though we flow in molten tin water, circling through the flicker........ Night pours a ringing bell from us........ Scarlet boats sink into darkness........ Candles age........ the flame wavers, waves sway, hearing a hunger for 'more'— each sleep more and more terrifies........ Hair like wet reeds beaten against the face, but gently........ snake beneath your fingers........ Look—toward the ceiling, like a copper dome (reflections give it such warmth)........ You kiss me through this veil of water harder and longer, until dawn........
The Sea of Senses
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