I tremble towards you slowly,
tripping into shuddering branches
as uncertainty whips heavy circles of anticipation
into my clay-stained palms.

I pluck a ripe tomb
from your moonlit eyes
and fill it with flitting sparrow shadows,
each one fiercely whittled
from the overburned stack
of heart-wood lodged in my throat.

Your thirsty stare encircles me
one poignant caterpillar spike at a time;
borrowing the sticky twilight-geometry of spider silk,
you meticulously reinforce the splintered trunk
of my heart.

Of moving on
we know nothing.

As our ambrosial kisses stammer in particles and waves
they ignite into a necklace of slumbering lotus seeds:
thousand-year memories of human regression and procession
that churn like mammoth wheels,
revealing the steady clock-like drift
of our intertwined subconscious minds
which connect like a stomach to food
after a month long fast.

It seems we'll always have mouths
for filling, won't we?

This parallel, brain-spun revival,
this billion spider journey
of silk tunnels still encases me
knuckle to knuckle,
until finally the sun-fed proclamation
of your alluring fingers unravels
each skin-thin strand with inhuman speed
and sublime accuracy.

Freedom streams into me fitfully
and I smile with curious awe
as stark geometric diagrams
plot the dazzling convolutions
of hunger and satiety
within the focused infinities
that seep from your garden-dancing hips.

We covet the moist essence
of our volcano-melted edges
until the segmented worms of possibility
digest the sky into swirling puddles
of florid fever-dreams that
we escape only by rebuilding
our destabilized molecules one by one
in the accelerated consciousness
of our enjoined lips.

03/20/2007

Posted on 03/20/2007
Copyright © 2026 Tom Goss